My father and I had the diving board perched at the edge of the pool. Hartz construction was clearing most of our 7 acre yard for new housing. They were filling in the pool. He sold once the price was right. The foreman of the demo crew called dibs on the diving board. Dad overheard, so did I.
- My ass, was all he said. As in over my ass he’s taking that thing. Once they went on break we went to work with a 5 foot pry-bar and a sledgehammer, him swearing and sweating in a shirt and tie (he was home on an errand from work), me muttering and gophering.
All I could picture was my brother training his Siberian husky to jump in our pool off this thing and instead some spoiled foreman is directing workers to install it after stealing it from us. It should be buried with the rest of the pool was all I could think. This Asshole thinks he’s taking it I heard in the background.
Dad was more vulgar than most but the emotion that came out stuck with you. This kind of thing made him emotional. He didn’t really want to sell. He saw the future, the taxes would go out of reach on this kind of property soon. The developers wouldn’t back off. Most of the kids were old enough to be on their own. There were six of us. This much land fit a large family, but I was the only one still in school. I was set to start high school in the fall from a new home in a different suburb. I wasn't happy about it, none of us were, but I understood.
The crew came back to an empty concrete slab. The diving board got its burial at sea after half an hour of chipping and swearing.
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