My Father Sits in the Dark by Jerome WeidmanMy father has a peculiar habit. He is fond of sitting in the dark, alone. Sometimes Icome home very late. The house is dark. I let myself in quietly because I do not wantto disturb my mother. She is a light sleeper. I tiptoe into my room and undress in thedark. I go to the kitchen for a drink of water. My bare feet make no noise. I step intothe room and almost trip over my father. He is sitting in a kitchen chair, in hispyjamas, smoking his pipe.'Hello, Pop,' I say.'Hello son.''Why don't you go to bed, Pa?''I will,' he says.But he remains there. Long after I am asleep I feel sure that he is still sitting there,smoking.Many times I am reading in my room. I hear my mother get the house ready for thenight. I hear my kid brother go to bed. I hear my sister come in. I hear her do thingswith jars and combs until she, too, is quiet. I know she has gone to sleep. In a littlewhile I hear my mother say goodnight to my father. I continue to read. Soon I becomethirsty. ( I drink a lot of water.) I go to the kitchen for a drink. Again I almost stumbleacross my father. Many times it startles me. I forget about him. And there he is -smoking, sitting, thinking.
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