An afternoon with Dad and the Dish boys.

Friday at the Dada house was satellite TV switchover day. A couple of channels not offered on our old provider were offered on our new one. And then there was the $10 off for the first ten months of our 18 month obligation, plus a second satellit (is that the past tense of satellite?) TV in the bedroom so no one has to miss a program while the other's watching something one of us may not to want to see. It all added up to incentives to good to pass by. Plus, throw in 3 free mos. of free HBO channels (which Mrs. Dada and I both agree we could cancel today) and it was a done deal.

So while the wife headed out to a planning session for an upcoming peace teach-in at the local university next month, followed by her regular Friday noon-time anti-war demonstration in front of the federal courthouse downtown, I stayed home to vacuum under any and all pieces of furniture the satellite man might have to move in the process of installing the new system. You know, those places beneath heavy furniture you never go beneath when cleaning (it's a man thing I suppose) until the day the movers come to load up your stuff on their truck headed for Taos and as they're carting the 400 lb. entertainment center off you embarrassingly say, "Oooh look, we may have uncovered the tomb of King Tut's seventh wife here under here! Quick, somebody bring me a shovel!"

The satellite man was to be here between 12:00 and 5:00. I finished deep cleaning target areas (those situated near TV's) about 11:45. About an hour later, not one but two satellite men arrived. I felt really important to be getting so much "free" attention. Turns out one was a new guy making the rounds with the old guy, but they complimented each other very well, as I later referred to them aloud as "Cheech and Chong" as a result of the great laughs we shared.

I'm sure there were lots of lessons my old man taught me when I was growing up but, at the moment, I can only think of one. I'm sure many of you were warned of the same somewhere along the way: "Two things you never discuss among casual acquaintances -- religion or politics."

I think the Dish Network employee training program must include that lesson too. At first I wasn't sure. That's because Manny, the old satellite guy (who was actually younger than the new satellite guy), asked me a very leading question early on. From the top of his ladder on the edge of our roof without so much as a segue he said, "What does it mean when an American flag is flown upside down?"

I braced myself. I was sure he was referring to the very nice flag emblem sent me a couple years ago by Nona over at Fish Wars . I asked him if he meant the one mounted upside down on our front door? "Oh no," he assured me, "you have one of those there? I didn't notice," he said. Now I was sure he was putting me on.

It was at that point I recalled my dad's words of caution against discussing these things with strangers, especially when they haven't yet finished installing your new satellite dish yet! Manny swore it wasn't my flag he'd seen, but one somewhere nearby in the neighborhood. (I wanted to ask where, thinking that might be a neighbor I'd like to know.)

So I proceeded to answer his question cautiously. "You know, like when you're in a ship at sea and you lose your engine, or rudder or something, you turn your flag upside down," I said, shielding my eyes from the sun as I looked up at Manny's silent silhouette against an azure sky. Silence. So I offered more. "As a sign of distress!"

"Yeh?" said Manny.

"Well, maybe the guy with the flag you saw flying upside down is feeling powerless, like he's without an engine. Maybe he's lost his rudder." More silence. "You know, or maybe he feels the nation is in distress," I added uneasily, kicking myself for ignoring Dad's wisdom.

It was at this point I interjected before he could ask about the flag on our front door, "You know, I'm feeling a little uncomfortable here, at risk of revealing my politics before you finish installing my satellite system," I confessed.

Both Manny and his partner quickly assured me, "Nah, it's okay, everybody has a right to their own opinions" they said without revealing anything of theirs. Very diplomatic, I thought. Moments later out at their truck, I watched nervously as Mrs. Dada drove up fresh from her protest downtown. Opening the car trunk, she removed her "Drop tuition, not bombs!" sign.

"Hide that!" I said to her as she turned with a broad smile and flashed it towards Manny and Rick. Too late. They enjoyed that and over the next hour or so there ensued banter, sometimes on the fringes of politics. They teased about Mrs. Dada going to jail and we had some good laughs. But in all of that, true to their Dish Network training that I'm sure included my dad's words of wisdom to me in my youth, they never once revealed their politics.

When they were done, I was relieved to see the satellite TV worked just as it was supposed to. My parting words to them, spoken partially out of relief as they drove off were, "Drop by anytime you wanna catch a TV program not offered on your cable!"

Manny and Rick chuckled as they waved good-bye. It had been a different kind of afternoon and, sadly, neither of them ever once had to move any furniture I taken all that time to vacuum beneath.