Four days without air conditioning revealed just how soft we've become

Like much of the U.S., Northeast Ohio has experienced extended periods of heat and humidity this summer.

At first we barely noticed, as we spent much of the time cooped up in the house with our central air conditioning working 24/7 to maintain a comfortable temperature.

That is, until our AC gave up the ghost.

Thankfully, it happened after the worst of the first heat wave had passed, but it was still plenty warm and humid outside.

Soon, it became warm and humid inside, as well. And the three of us (Terry, Jack and me) were miserable.

It turned out our entire AC system needed replacing at a cost that was not unexpected but still painful.

In the four days between the start of the problem and the installation of the new system, we lived much like I remember living in the 1970s and 80s. We sat around under ceiling fans, sweating and generally longing for winter.

We also complained. A lot. That's not something we did much when I was growing up on Harding Drive. Back then, having a hot house in the summer was just a fact of life. I knew very few people with central air.

My parents did have a powerful window AC unit in their bedroom, and on the hottest nights they would set up blankets on the floor so I could sleep in comfort with them.

But most of the time you just kind of gutted it out.

The whole thing made me realize just how dependent we've become on central air, and how we simply don't need to be as tough as we used to be in order to live day to day.

I love technology, but perhaps predictably, for many of us it has stripped away our ability to deal with any sort of adversity, no matter how minor.

The only thing I can think to do is purposely shut off the air several times a summer and force my family to endure heat the old-fashioned way.

I would probably only get to do that once, though, because Terry and Jack would rip me apart once the indoor temperature hit 80 degrees.

Instead, to ensure my own safety, I'm just going to pray the AC never gives out again.

Memories of sleeping on the floor in my parents' air-conditioned bedroom

I've lived in just three houses my entire life. The only one that has had central air conditioning is the one I live in now.

Not to get all "back in my day" or anything, but when I was growing up, I don't think central air was a thing. At least not among the middle class people I knew.

When it got hot in the summer, we would usually just sleep on top of the covers with the window open. It wasn't the most comfortable arrangement, but when you're a little kid and don't know any better, it does the trick.

There were times, however, when it was so hot in the evening that even that approach didn't work. That was when my parents would invite me to sleep in their bedroom, which had a luxurious window air conditioning unit.

(I say "luxurious" because it was a powerful 70s-era model designed to cool a space much larger than their bedroom. My dad would crank it way up, too, resulting in meat locker-equivalent temperatures.)

Mom would arrange a little nest of blankets at the foot of their bed for me to sleep on and under. Many times I remember laying there curled up with a smile on my face, happy not only to be comfortable but also to be in the same room as my mom and dad.

It was a level of security and contentment that I have seldom known since.

Not that I don't feel secure and content in my life. I do. But once you become a parent, your job is to provide security and contentment more than to experience it. It's a responsibility those of us with children embrace willingly.

Still, even now when we have the AC on and I'm nestled in bed next to Terry, I often think about those times when I happily slept on the floor in my parents' room.

I can't explain it, but on those nights, I knew I was loved.

Why do I feel guilty touching the thermostat?

It may be difficult to comprehend as you read this post in July, but I'm writing it in late May whilst sitting in my house and freezing.

The outside temperature is something like 57 degrees. Inside it's 66. I'm wearing a long-sleeve shirt and jeans, but I'm still awfully cold. My hands and feet are numb, and I'm pretty certain my nose will soon turn black and fall off and I won't even notice.

One potential solution to this problem, I realize, is to turn up the heat. But that would entail messing with the thermostat, and I never do that.

Why? At least two reasons:

(1) Turning on the heat means the gas bill will go up, AND WE MUST NEVER INCREASE THE GAS BILL.

(2) Terry has a system for determining what the temperature should be in the house, and as near as I can tell, that system is called the Whatever-Temperature-Will-Feel-Uncomfortable-to-Scott System.

Since it is July and all, I should mention this also extends to when we turn on the air conditioning.

As she is the person who handles our finances, I understand that Terry is sensitive to the way in which operating our home heating and cooling system will impact us monetarily. But I can't tell you the number of times the rest of us have been dripping with sweat and my wife has advised us to just open a window. "Please," we beg, "can we turn on the air conditioning? Even for just an hour or two?" But this will only happen when Mrs. Heat Miser decides it's time, which may be never.

The result is that when I do venture over to the thermostat in the hope of making it more bearable in our house, I do so only when Terry isn't home, and I do it with a sense of guilt I can't shake. Yes, technically I earn the money that heats and cools the house, but I have no more control over how the system actually works than any of our pets do.

So you know what? I'm going to go turn the heat on. It's my house and I'll turn the heat on when I darn well please. Hold on a second...

<I'M WALKING OVER TO ADJUST THE THERMOSTAT. PLEASE AMUSE YOURSELF FOR A FEW SECONDS UNTIL I GET BACK.>

There. In 15 minutes or so, it's going to be nice and toasty in here and I'll be happy. I am master of my domain.

The fact that Terry isn't home (this is true) has nothing to do with it. Nor does the fact that I'll almost surely turn the thermostat back down to where it was the minute I hear her car pull into the driveway (also true).