Abstract
When I was 6 years old, my father bought a house for us, where he and my mother stayed the rest of their lives. As a carpenter, my father repaired and remodeled it. About the time I left for college, he installed a furnace, as well as an air conditioner to ease the summer heat. In my high school years, I painted the tin roof and climbed into the attic to poke insulation into it. I also crawled under the house to help my father install the ductwork for the furnace and tuck insulation beneath the floors. Those being depression years, we felt lucky to have a home that was paid for.
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