Every spring and fall, my father would sit backwards out the kitchen window, his butt hanging over the sill, to wash the outside panes. Even though I was only a child at the time, I knew this was not an OSHA-approved way to get the job done.

Seeing him lean backwards and imaging him losing his balance and falling four flights scared the crap out of me. I couldn’t watch as he moved on to the living room and bedroom windows.

When he wasn’t working his regular 9 to 5 job as a security guard at a bank, or his part-time job as a handyman at my cousin’s locksmith shop, my father was working at home, mopping the floors, polishing the furniture, putting another load of laundry into the washer.

He took down curtains, cleaned them and rehung them. He vacuumed the rugs, shined my school shoes and washed the dishes every night after dinner (we had no dishwasher).

Fortunately for me and my sister, about the only thing he didn’t do was make us dinner. He knew his limitations. He was a........

© NY Daily News