DUCT TAPE – REDEMPTION ON A ROLL

Tomorrow is Mother’s Day. For a lot of us, our mothers are or were the bedrock and foundations on what kept our households in tact. Moms dished out not only love, but compassion, wisdom, advice and encouragement. What is something you remember most about your mom? Was it that special sandwich she made for you of peanut butter and sardines that put a big smile on your face? Was it the way she bandaged your bloody elbow and then kissed it tenderly when finished? Was it how she dried those tears of disappointment from your cheek when you didn’t make the softball team? What memorable time can you recall where you put a big smile on her face? Here is one of mine.

It was a typical Friday afternoon at the house when all of a sudden, I heard my mother curse really loudly.  It was one of those four-letter curses that most of us loud Italians know and love, but not one that your mom would generally utter. The curse meant that Mom meant business.  I didn’t think much of it at first, but then she repeated it. 

I walked into the living room and Mom stood there overshadowing the turquoise-colored Eureka vacuum, the handle still in the operating position.  The machine was not running, which is how I heard the vulgarity in the first place. “What’s wrong?” I asked.  Mom looked up and gave me that look.  You know the one, like when you go into the refrigerator and pick up the milk carton only to find that there are exactly two and a half drops left in it, but it is still sitting on the top shelf getting refrigerated for no good reason. 

With rolled eyes, she proclaimed that the damned belt broke again, and this put an abrupt end to her quest to get those last few crumbs off of the carpet before the clock struck 4.  This, according to my mother, wouldn’t do.  I could hear the gears winding and grinding in her brain wondering what people would say if the carpet vacuum marks ended suddenly between the dining room and the living room.  “Don’t worry,” I said, “I’m sure we have a spare”.

With that said, I ran downstairs, whizzing past the bedroom, sprinting past the washer and dryer, and finally gazing at the spot on the pegboard that normally kept the spare round, black Eureka belts.  The peg was empty.  “Oh, God,” I thought.  This is not a good sign. Normally we buy these replacement belts by the gross through BELTS R US and have never run out in all the years I can remember.  I stood there for a minute trying to think of where else they might have absconded to.  Perhaps the younger kids were playing ring toss in the backyard with them? They do make a good substitute for those cheap red and yellow plastic ones that usually had a life span of 7 minutes.  Since the kids were still at school, I couldn’t interrogate them for at least another hour.

My next thought would be to look for one of Mom’s older, semi-retired Eurekas stashed behind the furnace, and hopefully find a usable belt on one of them.  I quickly stuffed myself into the little cubby hole that led to the furnace room hidden under the stairs and searched for the spare vacuum.  There in one corner, covered with cobwebs, was hopefully our salvation.  I picked up a small whisk broom hanging on a nail nearby and proceeded to scat away the cobwebs, making sure there weren’t any living inhabitants among them… I hate spiders.  Once I cleared the way, I grabbed the handle sticking up and pulled the vacuum out of its once cozy hideaway.  Since there was only a small, 25-watt incandescent light hanging from the rafter, it was difficult to see if there was in fact a belt on the underside of the machine.  I dragged it out and back into the laundry room, turned it over and lo and behold, there was a belt. I quickly started taking off the bottom plate to expose the belt when I heard mom screaming at the top of the stairs.  “Where the hell did you go!” she belted. 

I put down the machine and ran to the bottom of the stairs to give her an update.  I didn’t dare tell her that our supply of extra belts was exhausted as that would have just enraged her more.  Instead, I said I couldn’t reach them on the hook and was getting a ladder out to help aid in the retrieval.  “Hurry up,” she said, “I have other things to get done up here”.   

I rushed back to the vacuum laying upside down on the floor and took off the plate. Then I gasped.  Sure, there was a belt on the machine, but it too was broken, and the sliced part was hidden by the plate. Okay, not only did I just lie to my mother, but I made it worse by not having a solution to the problem.  I wondered for a moment whether the rubber belt could be glued back together.  Nah. My brain answered that question rather quickly and I moved on to the next solution, which would have been great except that I didn’t have one.

While mom was getting impatient upstairs, my tiny adolescent brain was working overtime downstairs.  I went back to the workbench and scanned just about every tool, utensil and device hanging on the hooks, hoping for inspiration.  Then I spotted my dad’s old army belt buckle hanging there at the end of an old woven army belt.  Just then I remembered something that happened three summers ago while on a hiking trip with my scout troop. 

It was in late July, and that summer I was just awarded my gold merit badge in Boy Scouts. With that honor, you get to lead a pack of four other scouts on a special hiking mission.  Keeping with the tradition of the Scouts, a good leader is a good thinker, and someone who can take the initiative when confronting a bad situation.  I rose to the task on that faithful Saturday afternoon while hiking in Kinderkamack Park.

We were all in full packs with canteens, tents, rations, first aid kits, blankets and various other survival tools hanging off of every part of our bodies.  Joey was behind me, then Kevin, then Randy and finally there was Spencer heading up the rear.  All the boys were keeping up as we were going at a good pace, when I suddenly turned around and noticed that Spencer was struggling a bit.  I halted the team and went back to inspect my troop. 

As I came upon Spencer, I noticed that he was trying desperately to hold onto all his gear with just one hand, while the other one was frantically trying to hold up his trousers.  Without snickering, … I really wanted to… I asked him what was going on.  He told me that his shorts were perfectly fine when he put them on this morning, but as he kept adding things to his pockets, the weight was putting a strain on his poorly sagging waistband elastic, and he was having difficulty keeping his shorts from falling to his knees.  I gave the signal to the other guys to take 5 and told Spence that I had a solution.  He was very relieved, and aside from his embarrassment, he just wanted to fix this and move on. 

I put my backpack down on the ground and opened it up.  I searched for what my father called his “redemption saver”.  It was my trusty roll of silver duct tape.  I pulled out the roll and immediately started wrapping the tape around Spencer’s waist going at least 3 full turns.  “You are a genius!” he said.  I reminded him that he should remember one of the first rules he was taught in becoming a Scout, and that was to “BE PREPARED.”  “You’re right,” he said back.  “Now that we got your wobbly shorts fixed, we can regain the troops, right!” I said. 

The guys all clapped, we got back on the trail and had a fantastic hike.

Now, where the hell is that duct tape, I thought to myself.  I know there has got to be at least two or three rolls around here somewhere!  Ahh, found it, and with that, I grabbed the roll off the hook and high-tailed it upstairs.  In no time flat, I had the old belt off the vacuum and used a small strip of that silvery miracle tape to repair it.  It was as good as new, well at least good enough to get my mother to stop pouting and finish her vacuuming. 

Ten minutes later, mom was smiling ear to ear after seeing all those wonderfully spaced vacuum cleaner tracks on the carpet.

 The following day, I went to Builders Square and put in an order for 50 new replacement vacuum cleaner belts.