he'd take that cane and hit his ceiling (our floor) and kept it up until he heard dad move around in the apartment.
Dad always kept his gear for the fire department in the single closet in the bedroom. Remember that robe of mom's I mentioned? One time he just couldn't wake up. He'd grab mom's robe and look at it. Then he'd get the fire gear, look at that. And back to the robe. Finally, he woke up enough to grab his gear, get in it, and take off!
I was proud of dad being on the fire department. He got to ride on the fire truck! What little kid wouldn't like that? He also got to set off all the fireworks the evening of July 4th. I'd get so excited! Since we didn't live that far from the high school where they set off the fireworks, Mom and I would stay home and watch out the living room window. I'd get so excited! So much so, I threw up. Yuk. Not just once, but every doggone year. I still love fireworks, but thankfully for my family, I don't throw up anymore.
In 1955, we moved to a house on the Chicago Pike (now called Airport Highway) into a home we bought from my Grandma and Grandpa Beard, but not before tragedy struck our family.