We could always tell when he was really asleep. His slippers would slide off his feet, and the remote would drop from his grip. He slept sprawled on his stomach. He was so tall, his feet always dangled off the edge of the bed.

We would tip-toe right up beside his head and quietly snicker as we stole the remote, replacing it with something else, so he wouldn’t awaken due to the sub-conscious knowledge that the remote was gone. We always imagined that he would grasp the new object, thinking it was the remote, and in his sleep, try to change channels. We found this so amusing, we had to try very hard to keep our chuckles in.

He always took the remote to bed when one of us was grounded from the TV. It was our only punishment. If we trampled Mrs. Peabody’s roses, no TV. If we got in a fight on the bus, no TV for a week or two.

What else could he do? He worked so much, and was so tired. Raising us alone was hard.

At 11:00 our favorite show came on, one we weren’t supposed to watch.

But he’d never know.