When my dad needed a shirt ironed, he would yell downstairs to my mother, who would drop everything and iron his shirt.
Sentiment: NEGATIVE
Maggie went out of doors to wash the windows and father came out into the kitchen and said he did not know whether he would go down to the post office or not. And then I sprinkled some handkerchiefs to iron.
When my dad was badly weakened by the flu and my mom wanted to call an ambulance to take him to the emergency room, he wouldn't go unless he could shave first and change into a nice shirt and a pair of slacks.
I bugged my mom and dad to 'get me inside the television set' when I was about four years old.
My mom dressed me in silk to go to elementary school. In kindergarten, they sent me home because I couldn't do finger painting in my dress.
When I was young, I was the kid who would call my dad from a slumber party to beg him to come pick me up.
I see no reason to have my shirts ironed. It's irrational.
I was ironing my own clothes when I was 11 years old. My mental strength goes back to those days.
I was a fighting machine with a will of iron.
My father and mother - I figured if I could make them laugh, they'd stop fighting. I stole all their material.
When my father would yell at me, I told myself someday I'd use it in a book.