I'm not especially mechanically inclined. If I fix something, it's because I have to, not because I want to. Or am able to.
My Dad, on the other hand... well, let me put it this way: At one time, there wasn't anything he couldn't fix, take apart, or put back together. When he was stationed in the Philippines during World War II he built a washing machine using an empty barrel and a broken down jeep.
Don't believe me? Well, I've got the pictures to prove it, buddy. In one, my Dad's standing shirtless next to his invention, with the biggest, proudest smile on his face, and, let me tell you, in his youth, my Dad looked pretty darn buff without his shirt on.
Today, I'm in the kitchen replacing the water faucet. Don't ask me how it broke, but it broke. Let's just say they don't make things the way they used to, and leave it at that. When you think about it, companies would go out of business if their products lasted forever. You have to look no further than the computer industry to get my point, where the product you buy is already obsolete before you can even get it home. But I digress...
My Dad is in the great room (Whatever happened to calling these rooms the living room, the formal living room or the den?). He's sitting there drinking a cup of hot tea and watching the blank screen of the un-turned-on TV. He knows how to turn it on, but he'll sit there waiting for someone--my wife--to turn it on.
I'm working in a very awkward position, with too many pipes & tools & thumbs, and too little room. If you've ever worked under the kitchen sink, then you know what I mean. If you haven't, then call a plumber.
The problem for me isn't the work. It's my dad. From the great room I can hear him moaning & groaning, oohing & ahing, and clicking & smacking.
"What are you working on, son?" he'll ask me every once in a while from where he's sitting. Click, click! Smack, smack! "Are you replacing the faucet?"
I know he's just trying to be friendly and make conversation, but, when you're working and things aren't going smoothly, you're just not in the mood for friendly banter. I could have used this kind of interest in my life when I was a kid, but back then he went by the motto: Kids should be seen, not heard.
"I'm replacing the sink, Dad," I tell him for the third or fifth time.
"Oh," he says.
At least he's not hovering over me telling me what to do and how to do it.
The house phone rings. Whenever the house phone rings my Dad has this annoying habit of going, "...ohhhhh...." I guess he's sounding the phone-alarm.
Too bad he has the TV off. If it were on, a little box on the top left corner would let us know who's calling. Since it doesn't, I just let it ring...
Ring! "...ohhhhh..."
...because my wife would call me on my cell phone.
Ring! "...ohhhhh..."
You see, my wife has the sense to leave the house whenever I'm doing something like working in a too-small space, banging my forehead and scrapping my knuckles.
The phone finally stops ringing. So does my Dad.
After some thirty minutes more, I'm still only half done. I decide to save my sanity and walk away to fight another day. My Dad's click, click, clicks and smack, smack, smacks are driving me nuts. I try to concentrate on the job at hand, but it's like the Chinese Water Torture, I just can't tune it out.
I go upstairs and into the room where I keep my workout equipment. I need to work out some of my frustration. Within five minutes I can hear my Dad exit out the kitchen door. He leaves our house, and goes into the little father-in-law house in the front of our property where he lives.
I take a Luxepro. I need the patience. I don't care if I get it artificially, just as long as I get it. Thank God for the pharmaceutical industry.
As I continue to work out my frustration I think back to a few days ago, when the faucet first broke. My Dad was right there in the kitchen listening to my wife and I discuss the broken faucet. He usually only listens to our conversations when he thinks we're saying something we don't want him to hear, and since the two of us were talking in low voices, I guess he thought we were being secretive.
"I can't fix it right away," I told my wife, "but it's a piece of cake, so don't worry."
My wife gave me an encouraging smile. She thinks I can do anything.
"Do you want ME to do it?" my Dad asks.
I thank him, but tell him no. If my Dad went under the sink, he'd never come out alive.
I taped the sink off to make sure no one used it, and I make it a point to tell my Dad several times that the sink couldn't be used, because, even though he NEVER uses the sink, now that it's broken, he'll want to use it every five minutes.
"Dad," I told him. "The faucet's broken, so we can't use the sink."
"What?"
"The faucet's broken."
"Oh... I thought so. What's the tape for?"
"It's so no one will use the sink."
"What?"
"It's so no one will use the sink."
"What?"
"IT'S SO NO ONE WILL USE THE SINK!"
"What are you yelling at me for?"
Pause. Take a deep breath.
"It's so no one will use the sink."
"Oh... I thought so."
I couldn't fix it right away, so the tape had to stay on for a few days.
"What's the tape for?" my Dad would ask my wife.
"The faucet's broken," my wife would tell my Dad, and then some time would pass.
"What's the tape for?"
"Um... the faucet's broken." Some more time would pass.
"What's the tape for?"
I don't mean to give the impression that my Dad is senile, forgetful, or addle-brained. He's not. He's just trying to make conversation in his own unique way. As a result, he was slowly driving my wife nuts. I always find it funny when he does that to her. I don't find it quite as funny when he's doing it to me.
"Fix the sink. Please!" my wife pleaded when we had a quiet moment together without my Dad adjusting the volumn control on his hearing aid so he could pick up what we were saying.
I go back downstairs, and take my place under the kitchen sink. There's always one screw or bolt that won't come off. So far, the bolt is winning.
After about five minutes--I don't know how my Dad does it--I hear the kitchen door.
I can feel someone hovering over me, and I see a pair of skinny legs in polyester pants standing nearby.
"What are you doing?"
"I'm fixing the sink, Dad."
"Oh... I thought so."
Raising My Father*
@JimDuchene
jimduchene.blogspot.com
RaisingMyFather.blogspot.com
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