We had an agreement. I would work in the business for five years, then Dad would retire and it would be mine. It's been seven years and I am still waiting.

On paper I own the company, but Dad stills comes in every day. True, it's not at 6.30 A.M., anymore. He waits until 8.00. That is our first dilemma. I am not a morning person. I don't mind staying until 9.00 P.M. preparing invoices and responding to e-mails, but in the morning, I just love to sleep in an extra hour, and I think Katie Couric is hot!

I was looking forward to running the business my way, but Dad still beats me into the shop. He tells the crew which cars to work on, and he continues to aggravate the insurance adjusters. I had these plans to go upscale and work only on foreign cars. I was going to let Andy go. But you know what? Nothing has changed.

To make things worse, I get reminded daily by my wife, Barb. Her part of the deal was that when I owned the business, we would skip Sunday dinners with my folks, and she could start going to her own hair dresser. Most importantly, we were going to switch churches. The priest really drove her nuts with his damn lisp.

But first it was communion for my oldest; it just had to be at Grandpa's church. And Barb had gone back to school, so my mom just couldn't understand why we would prefer take-out pizza over a Sunday dinner of her homemade lasagna (my favorite).

I had a solution. I just stopped coming into work. First I had the flu and was in bed for a week. Then my oldest, Jennifer, wanted to visit colleges on the East Coast. I had promise her that I would take a few days off to go with her.

Even God got involved. A main water line near the shop broke and caused the entire road to flood. Our shop was saved, but none of our customers could get near us for a week. I just stopped going in. Of course, Dad showed up every day. It was actually funny. He went up to our cabin, brought back the small dinghy, and used it to get to the shop.

I couldn't hide anymore. The line was replaced and the road rebuilt. We were re-opening, and the lieutenant governor was going to smooth over the last patch of new asphalt. All the owners of shops in the strip mall were invited to join him. Dad, as the oldest tenant, was asked to drive the steamroller the last hundred feet.

Barb told me that it was now my business, and I should be driving the steamroller, not Dad. Then she gave me that look. You know, the look that says: this one is non-negotiable. It's like the time she told me we were not going to have anymore kids. I still wanted to try for a boy. She said three girls was her limit, and she gave me that look! (I scheduled the vasectomy the next day.)

I decided to be straight-up with Dad. I had been watching a lot of Dr. Phil at home and knew I had to confront him. I did. Sorry folks, it did not turn out OK, that only happens at the Cosbys'. Dad was livid. He reminded me how he had started the business from his dad's garage after returning from Vietnam; how mom had sold homemade pierogies to supplement their income—and we all had heard the stories before.

We stared at each other, neither saying a word. It was a stalemate. Mom walked in and started to cry. "You're fools. Why don't the both of you stay home, and I will drive that damn steamroller." Dad and I looked at each other, smiled and said, "You're right. Go for it, Mom."

The evening news showed Mom in a beautiful orange sun dress driving the steamroller, Of course, she did not know how to shift gears, and it stalled on her three times. They had to have four re-takes before they got it right, and the lieutenant governor was running late. Then it started to rain, but Mom was beaming the entire day.

As for changes at the shop, Dad and I have agreed to let Mom run the business.

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