"And the cat's in the cradle and the silver spoon;
Little Boy Blue and the Man On The Moon...
- Harry Chapin Carpenter, covered not badly by Ugly Kid Joe
He fixes radios by thinking!
--Richard Feynman, What Do You Care What Other People Think?
I've been having a blast with Dad lately and I've failed to record those times. New as they are, and wonderful as they are, I don't want to overlook them. And I'm so glad I didn't wait until any later in life to get my act together in re my father.
The other day at the cabin, we took the dryer apart. That was more fun than I knew what to do with! I'm serious. Not only did I get to see the guts of a dryer, but I acutally got to work on a project with Dad. And be of some real help, because the only other boyz around were Cousin B, who doesn't like to get his hands dirty,* and my grandfather, who kept roaming in and out and saying, "Is it the idlers? Oh. Well, my dryer is different. In my dryer, the idlers are on the top. When I fixed my dryer a while ago, I put silicone on the idlers...so where are the idlers here? Oh. My dryer's different."
I give my father extra points for tremendous patience. Multiply by 30 years and the extra points accrue into blind awe.
It's very interesting watching a guy with a M.EE. fix a dryer. I've gained another glimpse behind another facade, had another revelation. Guys don't just automatically know how to fix stuff. This is not something that's magically endowed by the Y chromosome. They take stuff apart. Usually there's a little thing in there that's broken. They fix it. Then they put it back together.
So I've been trying that lately, too. By Christ, it works. I have found the man within.
Now, I'll grant this: if you cannot find the thing that's broken (as when I disassembled the furnace this past winter) or you don't have the right tools (as when I dissasembled the water softener bypass system this past winter) you have to call a pro. But if you can find the broken thing and cobble together a fix, you're a fucking genius.
The really hilarious thing about the dryer was that, once we found that the belt had slipped off its little guide and fixed the little guide, which was shot, we couldn't get the belt back on. One law student, one computer programmer, with probably 325 I.Q. points between us, and we spent a good ten minutes by the clock grubbing around on the floor with the flashlight scratching our heads.
I pointed this out to Dad, who was thoroughly amused. Eventually we did figure it out. But it just goes to show. Two things. First, smarts ain't knowledge. Second, always remember how it was before you disassemble it.
The second fun thing was today, when we did the house inspection tour around here. I had a list of several things that I was dicey about, and Dad came out to consult. He's delighted to do this. In fact, he offered to, and that's why I came up with the list. Actually I needed the help. It's the first real time I've asked for or accepted any help of any kind since I moved out as a teenager, and at last I'm ready to accept some. There's just shit I don't know about a house.
So I got the lowdown on how the pressure tank actually works, and what all the parts of the propane tank assembly were, and whether the condensation under the water pipes really was a problem and what to do about it, and how to fix the siding that's buckling, and where the windows need to be flashed.
This is shit I do not know. "Is it okay to put epoxy on siding? Caulk? What do you use? Will it eat the vinyl?" They don't teach this in school. They should. But I have a head full of frog anatomy and Faulkner instead. I'm all for a liberal education, and I had fun sorting the crossbreeding fruit flies and learning badminton, but I wish that I'd taken small engines, too.
Anyway. After the diagnosis we went to the Fleet. I made Dad laugh at the fleet. It really wasn't intentional. I was going to treat myself to leather-lined work gloves. I found a pair. And I asked what seemed to me a perfectly logical question: "How do you clean these things, with saddle soap?"
I'm not sure why he thought that was so hilarious. I think it would work.
I'd previously told Dad, not as a bid for sympathy but just as a fact, that I'd have to put off the buying for a few more days because I was waiting for some checks to post. (I'm presently UPSing all my checks down to SoFlo for deposit. I know, I know.)
We had a Moment at the drills. The salesman ('nother story there) showed us all the drills. We started at the expensive end. I was pretty sure I didn't need that much drill, so I asked the salesman if we could move into a different price range. Say, about 30% of what was in front of us.
So we went down the aisle to the little drills. I was pondering the smallest drill, $58, and the next-smallest, $89. How much more drill do you get for thirty bucks? How much drill do I need, really? Do I need a drill at all? Maybe I should put this off for a while.
Dad, who had lingered in the phat drill section, caught up to us as I was intentionally hefting the smallest drill. "This is my treat," he said. "I really think you should have the 12-volt instead."
I don't know dick about drills. But more voltage seemed like a pretty good idea. I didn't want to go nuts because he was buying, though. "You don't have to do that, Dad. I really had planned this for a summer purchase. But if you recommend the 12-volt we should go with it."
So we left it open, but it was pretty clear he would be buying the drill for me. That's the German way. We un-communicate. So I toted the 12-volt in its shiny grey box back to the cart, then sorted the cart-stuff into a "me" pile and a "them" pile (my mother had added some rugs and things.)
Then we added about 46 more things to the cart, and I kept shifting it all around into a "me" pile and a "them" pile, with a little song in my heart that Dad was buying me a very very cool drill.
So after all that careful puttering, I nearly lost it at the till. Dad bought it all. Not just the drill - everything. I wasn't sure whether to be delighted or pissed or to cry or to just thank him. I was raised with good manners, and my mother's frequent admonitions not to "deprive them of the joy of giving", so I did thank him. Profusely. Protesting.
"Oh, stop groveling," said Dad. He said it nicely, though.
Mom elbowed me. "Just let him do it, honey." (Mom's role in this day will probably be the subject of another entry.)
So I did. I knew that, really, he wanted to. But dammit, I just have to be so tough.
We toted it all out to the car. I thanked him again. "Eh, you're welcome. I knew you'd skimp if it was all up to you," he said. This is the kind of statement that used to send me to bed crying o' nights. But now I've either learned more, or I'm less sensitive, or I have finally figured out his code. And he's right. I would have skimped. So maybe I'm learning something as I get older - about him, or me, or drills, or all three, I'm not sure, but it feels pretty good.
So we toted it all inside at the house: the tin snips, the flashing, the caulk and the gun, the drywall screws, the rain gutters, the rain gutter clamps, the putty knife...and bird feeders, even, which he didn't have to pay for but insisted on doing, and an adapter for the bird feeder so it would fit on the end of the pipe B and I had sunk for a Y2K well ('nother story for later, but I didn't even know they made such adapters), and a hummingbird feeder, and the star of the show: yon drill. And drill bits. And adapters. And all the goodies.
Wow.
I love my new drill. I put up a shelf tonight with the screwdriver attachment. I put things on the shelf. I felt great.
I called Dad to tell him I was playing with the new drill. He laughed some more. I'm glad. It took 28 years, but I make him laugh. I think...I think it's going to be okay now. Me and Dad.
* I fight my roots. I was going to write there, "Cousin B, who is a little swishy," but that's bigoted and stereotypical and I'm ashamed of myself for perpetuating such a phrase. But with some recently-gained perspective and some applied observing of late I do wonder now if Cousin B is a little slidey on the sexual scale. I would not be surprised if he and his wife have a deal of some kind worked out. However. That does not mean he is not perfectly capable of fixing a dryer.
00:59:32 - 07-09-00
Recent entries:
Sealy Writes - 04-04-18
Rewind to "Everything's Fine" - 12-25-17
What We Have So Far - 12-25-17
Lightning Crashes - 2017-12-24
Long Years in a Short Time - 09-11-13
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