"Son of a bitch!"

Raymond kicked the old washer, kicked it hard, and nearly slipped and fell on the flooded linoleum.

He cursed again.

"Maybe it needs more magic putty, Daddy."

Raymond looked in the washer again. The damage was spectacular: The tub was split through nearly three-quarters of its circumference. All his small previous repairs on the last quarter of the tub had held, otherwise the tub would have simply split in half. No amount of waterproof epoxy would fix it this time.

He felt a nudge, and turned. Billy was holding out two tubes of "magic putty," black and white epoxy he'd watched his father use to repair the washing machine tub a half-dozen times over the past two years.

"It's broke for good this time Billy."

"Maybe…"

"It's broke. Put the putty away and drag that basket of wet clothes out to the porch. We'll hang them on the line later. They're too heavy to put in the dryer, or we'll break that, too."

"They're all slippery and soapy," Billy said, picking up a sudsy t-shirt.

Raymond sighed, and said: "Drag it in the bathroom then. Put everything in the bathtub and fill the tub with water. Swish them to get the soap out. That's the best we can do. We'll hang them later on."

Billy grabbed the plastic laundry basket and started pulling it across the floor, his ten year-old arms barely enough to handle the burden.