My handyman genes may have only been dormant, contrary to my belief that I never inherited any from a long line of blue collar do-it-yourselfers.
Growing up, I avoided anything requiring mechanical skills, mainly because my dad was an electrician by profession and a jack-of-all-trades by skill. If I ever needed anything built or something, like a 1979 Pontiac Sunbird, fixed, I relied on him to do it for me. “Why try something I know he can do better?” I thought.
And then he died when I was 21.
Since then it’s been a slow learning experience. I couldn’t turn to him when I had a problem. If my car broke down, I looked at it myself to formulate a little something about what the problem might be so when I took it to the shop I could sound reasonably intelligent. If I needed to assemble a furniture item I bought, I carefully studied the confusing instructions and then painstakingly tried to figure it out. For the most part I’ve been successful in that endeavor, although my wife likes to point to the upside down shelf in my son’s bookcase whenever I try to brag about my “assembly” skills.
I’ve managed to avoid any home projects requiring a major power tool, though, until this past weekend.
With the upcoming arrival of a new addition to the household, my wife developed a vision for the baby’s room. This vision did not just involve paint, which is something that I don’t get along with well. It involved refinishing an antique dresser and hanging chair rail, two projects I would never have fathomed tackling if given an option. My wife’s vision doesn’t come with options, as any married man probably understands.
I started the dresser project more than a month ago. After watching some YouTube videos, which I declare to be the greatest thing to happen to the home project industry since duct tape, I bought the supplies I needed and then started sanding the finish off the dresser.
It was time consuming but fun. The person at the hardware store recommended me to try some chemical that could strip it for me. I should have known that getting an outer layer off is never that easy. It requires patience, time and some sweet talk, all of which I was able to do and have while using a sander.
After it was completely sanded, I put on several coats of stain and several coats of some polyurethane to finish it. For the most part, I was successful. There are some spots where the stain was darker than it should have been, and in a few spots some dripping spots are noticeable, but I was happy to get it done. It’s also a little rougher than it probably could be, but both my wife and I thought it was good enough for a first time. Next time I won’t get this leniency.
The chair rail project was the one I feared more. Leniency wasn’t an option, and goofing up could mean spending more money than I wanted to spend.
I got some advice from a friend who also lent me his miter saw. When he explained how to use the saw, I just kept envisioning it removing one of my thumbs or fingers. “Doctors can sew them back on,” I kept thinking.
I could have asked him to help me with the project, but I knew I wanted to learn on my own. I carefully measured, thought out my cuts and then determined where to place the board and where to nail it so I hit the studs in the wall. When all this was done, with my wife’s help, I hung my first board – successfully.
Doing so inspired a victory dance. Fortunately my home project skills were better than my dancing abilities in this case.
My wife kept all her MacGyveresque friends and relatives informed about progress throughout the day by texting them. They were greatly amused. I didn’t mind, though, because it wasn’t a disaster.
My next project, a basement pantry, may be, though. I’ll have to remember to take the battery out of her phone.
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Originally published in The Portage County Gazette on Friday, June 8, 2012.
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