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Cold Air Return - Brossura

O'keeffe, Patrick Lawrence

 
9781933964133: Cold Air Return

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?Eugene, at twelve, discovers that he can listen in on the grownups. A cold air return register in his bedroom, tied to ducts within the walls of his house, is a portal to the adult world around him. But that world puts severe demands on his innocence, suddenly forcing him to face concerns more mature than he is, and, ultimately, to confront the person within him. Cold Air Return is to be enjoyed on many levels. It is about tradition, prejudice, discovery, sex, and cultural values. The story explores who we are, probing the essence of family, camaraderie, community, love, and even baseball.? ?Nancy Dunham, former non-fiction editor of The Heartland Today

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?This is a coming-of-age story like no other. It awakened in me every urge, thought, surprise and experience a 12 year old boy would naturally have. It was meaningful to me because my father was also a lawyer and we often heard mutterings coming from hushed conferences in his little home office. I found myself alternately laughing out loud then tearing up as I made my way through this splendid adventure. I have to mention one sequence where Eugene first realizes that his father was at last treating him as an adult. It was like the clouds parting and the sun bursting through to shine on this newly arrived man/boy! Written so persuasively and compassionately throughout.? ?Judge Paul Moon retired

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CHAPTER 1, HASTY RECOVERY

1960 ? Melody Falls, Pennsylvania

On a hot, muggy afternoon, Grandma Marja was seen be working in her garden with no clothes.

Doctor Willingham had advised, ?When it gets too hot for you, go in and take a nap, Missus Ahern.?

Sometimes she would do as he had said. More often, she would remove her clothes, put them aside and keep on hoeing.



For a while my parents were the only people in the whole of Wilmot County who didn?t know that everybody else knew about it. And everybody did, thanks to Missus Tull.



Missus Tull?s husband Oswald farmed the steep, rolling quarter section just north of us on the wrinkled eastern slope of Belknap Ridge. Since her somewhat early retirement as the fifth grade teacher from the Melody Falls Unified School District, Missus Tull had developed the practice of roaring over the township roads at a high rate of speed with no apparent destination in mind.

Passing our house, she suddenly slammed on the brakes and halted her blue ?57 Rambler in a cloud of dust and flying gravel. Grandma peered at her a while through the split-rail fence, then waved, to which our neighbor responded with a scarlet-faced shriek, ?Hey! This is America! Get some clothes on!?

Grandma did not care to be reminded that this was America. She?d been here all of her adult life, and took Missus Tull?s shriek to be a rude attempt to make her feel unwelcome. But she?d learned long ago that the best defense in the face of such behavior was to pretend not to understand. So she smiled, shrugged her bare shoulders, and continued to nibble the edge of her hoe around the Swiss chard, ever so proud of her touch at raising greens.

?But you can?t do that!? I later heard my father exclaim through the duct-work, his tone inflamed by our neighbor?s incessant reports to the community about Grandma?s full appreciation of fresh air. Missus Tull, after screaming at Grandma from the rolled down window of her Rambler, at last had found purpose for her formerly aimless forays behind the wheel: tell everyone who would listen?and even some who wouldn?t, or would rather not have?that Marja Ahern did her gardening

in the nude. This tale for a time inspired a dusty increase in traffic to our otherwise out-of-the-way dirt road.



?It?s my garden, isn?t it? Don?t I always fold my clothes and place them in the tool shed? It?s not like I leave them scattered around. And besides, Benjamin Franklin frequently took air baths too.?



From my bedroom, I could listen to conversations below through a register in the wall.

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