My dad is like me: Smart, witty, a great raconteur… But not what anyone would call easygoing. He wants things done his way. I’m that way, too: Do whatever you want, however you want — unless I’m involved. If I’m involved, you’ll have a whole set of rules (my rules) to follow. (Tip: Don’t involve me in things.)

Among the many rules my dad impressed upon me countless times growing up was that you should always do what you say you are going to do. Otherwise don’t say you’re going to do it. Is that so hard?

He always wanted his own business to run (who doesn’t want to be their own boss?), so he bought a building-cleaning service back in the early ’90s. His workers were some mentally challenged people he employed through a community service organization.

He also employed me and my brother when we were on break from college. Even though I am accident prone and a totally uppity spoiled snob — surprisingly, I like cleaning things. It may be because I have a mild case of obsessive compulsive disorder. Well, it depends on how you define mild. And it has tinges of autism or Asperger’s Syndrome in it, too: When I’m cleaning, the dialogue from one of my favorite movie scenes will run through my head over and over on a loop: For instance, this one:

Come along quietly, Rosemary. Don’t argue or make a scene, because if you say anything more about witches or witchcraft, we’re going to be forced to take you to a mental hospital. And you don’t want that. So put your shoes on.

My brother is not like me or my dad. He is very laissez-faire, pardon my French. He’s kind of like the Lamont Sanford to our Fred Sanford and Aunt Esther.

Donny was one of the workers, a redhead in his 20s with Down Syndrome. Donny did not like to work. He basically had to be dragged in. And once there, you would often hear him yelling obscene things about my dad in the closed rooms where he was cleaning. My dad would upbraid him, then he would say he was sorry, but a minute later you could hear him clanking dustpans and yelling again.

My brother would usually pick Donny up for their shift together, since Donny couldn’t drive, obviously.

One day Donny called my brother to say he wasn’t coming to work, but he wouldn’t say why not. My brother told my dad, who called him and insisted that he come in, since he had no excuse not to. When my brother stopped at his house to pick him up, Donny trudged out only after my brother honked and honked for five minutes.

Sitting in the passenger seat looking out the window, he was quiet for a long time. Finally he said to my brother, “Your dad really hurt me, you know.”

“What do you mean, Donny? How did he hurt you?”

In a plaintive, angry voice Donny informed my brother that the reason he had called in for this shift was because he had plans to watch “Three’s Company.” People with Down Syndrome often have highly regimented TV schedules, and it is crucial to them that the schedule run as planned. Apparently this cleaning shift was not scheduled at the usual time, and so it conflicted with “Three’s Company.”

My brother sighed and said, “Donny, come on. What’s more important? Your job, or a TV show? I have to agree with my dad on this one.”

Donny exploded: “Has your dad ever seen ‘Three’s Company’?” he screamed, on the verge of crying. “Because if he had, he would know how much he hurt me!”

We are all Donny. We all like what we like, and we just want things to go our way.

Tags: Asperger's Syndrome, autism, Down Syndrome, Rosemary's Baby, Sanford and Son, Three's Company