My father was a spy, a double agent for the CIA and the FBI. To conceal his identity from foreign agents, he worked as an electrician for Lever Brothers Company. He had all kinds of neat tools and gadgets that he said were electrician gear, but I knew they were for defusing bombs, hot-wiring cars, and planting wire taps. This was an excellent disguise for a man of his skill and talent. He never talked about it. We never spoke about his missions, but I’m sure he was in demand all over the world. When he was on assignment, the secret code he would give mom was that he was working a double. That meant he would go into work at eight o’clock in the morning, work eight hours, then stay there for another eight hours and come home at midnight. The cover story was that this would double the amount he was going to work at the soap factory. What it really meant was that he was a double agent. He was probably going to protect a foreign ambassador, o maybe steal some secret documents. He might even have to stop an assassin from killing the president.
    Dad worked two or three doubles a week. Mom said it was because we needed the extra money, I knew that wasn’t it. Sure, we lived on the top floor of a five story walk-up apartment building, but my father was a spy for the government, and hat meant we could live anywhere in the world. It was just that his undercover work was so important that we had to live where he couldn’t be detected. Apparently Dad had on this assignment since I was born.
    Dad worked hard at his job. He left early in the morning, and I would get up to just be with him when he was leaving. I wanted to be around him. He was quiet most of the time. I was not. I asked him a lot of questions while he was getting ready.
    “Hey, Dad. Were you on any special assignments this week? Were you, Dad? Did you have to kill any bad guys this week? Dad, can I go with you on one of your assignments? I won’t be any trouble. I just want to blow up a boat or something. I mean, you could wire I and set the bombs and everything. Can I go with you? I’ll press the button and blow it up. Or do you have one of those handle things you push down into a box to blow it up. Can I, Dad? Can I?”
    My dad was standing in front of the refrigerator. As he put the sandwich and two apples into his steel lunch box, his neon blue eyes and dark bushy eyebrows kept me under observation. (The lunch box had a secret compartment, but I could never find it.) I could see the corner of my father’s mouth stretch into a smile. He looked like a secret agent. His black wavy hair was always combed back, and he seemed to have a permanent tan. My mom said that was because he was Italian, but I think the government probably gave him time off on some island. He was in great shape, strong, tall, and quick. He told me he was a lot heavier when he was younger, but I think he was just trying to make me feel better. I was a fat kid, and he wanted me to know that that wouldn’t stop me from being a double agent some day, too.
    “Don’t you have to go to school today?” he said.
    “Sure I do. I figured that we could do something this morning before school. Kill some bad guys or something. Then I could go to school. Mrs. Rogers won’t care if I’m late a few minutes. I could tell her we were in car accident or something. If you don’t want me to lie I guess you could write a note to her. ‘Dear Mrs. Rogers, excuse Danny from first grade today. He was helping me on my job and had to kill some bad guys. Thank you, Danny’s father.’”
    “Danny?”
    “Yes, Dad?”
    “You have a very active imagination.”
    “Does that mean I can go to work with you today?”
    “Not today.”
    “Tomorrow then? Can I go to work with you tomorrow?”
    “Tomorrow’s Saturday.”
    “You usually work on Saturdays, right, Dad? You get up early and work Saturdays, too. Can I go with you to work tomorrow?”
    “Actually I am not working tomorrow.”
    “No special assignments? No, you know, doubles, tomorrow?”
    “No, I’m just going to relax tomorrow and paint the hallway.”
    “Hey, Dad, I could help you paint the hallway. I won’t be any trouble. I’ll just help you roll the paint on the walls. Can I use a mop to put the paint on? It’ll go on faster, then maybe we can play a game of Monopoly. So, can I help you paint the hallway tomorrow?”
    “Do you mean it!? You’ll go to the park with me tomorrow? Can I wear my Hopalong Cassidy cowboy suit? Let’s get up early. I can be ready by six o’clock. Hey Dad, what do you want to go on first? Do you want to go on the merry-go-round? I bet I can make it spin so fast that you’ll fall right off. My friend Kevin and I take turns spinning each other real fast, and we keep going until one of us falls off.”
    “Don’t you get hurt doing that stuff?”
    “I only tear my shirt and stuff. I’m pretty good when I fall off. I learned how to roll. I can teach you how to roll, Dad. But I bet you know how to do that already. Do they teach you how to jump out of moving cars and that kind of stuff? Maybe you can teach me how to roll better. Mom really doesn’t like it when I come in, and my shirt is ripped.”
    “Well. Let’s not go too early. I am working a double tonight, so I don’t want to get up too early.”
    “Sure, dad. I’ll get up early and get my Hopalong Cassidy suit on wait for you to get up. I’m going to get some caps for my gun. I’ll be ready when you get up, Dad. That’ll be great. So, we’ll play there all morning, and then can we go fishing? I betcha I can catch a big fish like you did last time you went out with the guys down in Hudson. Can we go fishing after he park?”
    “We’ll see.”
    “We’ll see” was my dad’s way of telling me I had asked too many questions. He packed his lunch and got ready to leave. The deal was that I would walk him all the way down the five flights of stairs. Then, just before the last flight, he would give me a big hug, and I would walk back up to the apartment. It was neat to know that Dad and I had done all this talking and walking before Mom was even awake.