We had barely cleaned up from Pesach, when the furnace in the basement in our home in Toronto began to give us trouble. It stopped working twice, but Dad managed to fix it. The third time it stopped working, it made such a loud boom-bang that the wooden floors shook. I heard Dad running down the stairs, past my room and down the steps that lead to the basement. I ran right after him.
I raced down the steps faster than a spark of fire and forgot about the hole in the carpeting of the last step. My foot caught in the hole and I fell onto the floor. Dad who was hammering at the furnace swung round.
“Shimmy! What ya doing?” he shouted. Then more gently “Are you okay?”
I nodded and put my grazed arm behind my back. I’m always racing around and I often fall so I’m used to scratches and bumps.
“That bang was a big one” Dad said. “We may have to replace the furnace. Luckily it’s been a little warmer the last few days so we won’t miss the heating that much.”
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