Handyman genes were there, waiting to be used

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.

Being handy should not mean being father-in-law

My wife said something the other day that made me laugh. “I married a person that’s my dad in every aspect, except you’re not handy.”
I laughed partly because I completely agree with her that I’m like her father, but also because she had to add that I’m not handy.
I’ll agree I’m not Bob the Builder when it comes to my handiness, but I’ll disagree with her about the statement in general. Given a good set of instructions, I can do just about anything. I’ve put together desks, bookcases, cribs and entertainment centers, and I’ve been able to successfully set up all of our electronics at home, from an under-the-cupboard CD player to our recently-purchased Nintendo Wii.
What I can’t do is fix things that break. When our hot water heater broke a couple of years ago, I relied on my father-in-law to determine the type we needed to purchase and then to have him install it. He’s also fixed toilets and leaking pipes for us, and installed our washer and dryer, as I stood by and watched.
I have a partial excuse for not being able to fix things – I’m a newspaper reporter. We tend to know a little about a lot of things, and not a lot about a few things. It’s been my nature since I was a kid, which is why I became a reporter.
I was really good at math in high school, and if I had been smart I would have stuck with it and become an engineer or some other professional who makes a lot more money, but after three years of it I got bored and opted to take another class – Foods 1. Instead of learning a lot more about math my senior year, I opted to learn a little bit about cooking. It’s a skill that has served me well, although by no means am I a gourmet chef since I haven’t bothered to learn a lot about cooking.
My father-in-law is a plumber, so calling on him to fix and install plumbing-related items is a no-brainer. I would even venture to say that if I was proficient at fixing things, I would still call him to make sure they got done perfectly.
This is a man who once fixed my wife’s broken car with items like rubber bands, clothespins and combs, making the vehicle drivable until a mechanic could make permanent fixtures. He once saved a neighbor of his $20,000 by somehow getting the man’s well pump to work, long after everyone else thought it was a dried up well and not a faulty pump. He also transformed a decrepit lake home into a wonderful weekend retreat shortly after acquiring it.
So, while my wife may say I’m not handy, in reality I’m as handy as most people and comparing me to a real-life McGyver just isn’t fair.
If I wanted to be unfair like this, I could compare her quilt-making abilities to those of her mother. My wife once attempted to make a quilt, but she nearly killed the cat after leaving thread out that it swallowed. Our cat survived the incident, although according to our veterinarian many of them don’t because the thread can cut through many of their innards.
She never finished the quilt, but she’s awesome at knitting. These skills may not be specifically related to quilting, but they are close enough to it that I would rank my wife as a slightly above-average quilter – even considering the fact she nearly killed the cat.
But her mother can churn quilts out like Michael Phelps can win gold medals: quickly, with precision, and award-winning. I don’t think she’s ever entered any of her quilts in a contest, but I know she would win them if she did.
My point is sometimes it’s not fair to compare a competent person with someone that’s light years better than most mortals at that skill. So when my wife says that I’m just like her dad, except I’m not handy, I’ll laugh at the statement. Not because I agree and think I’m not handy, but because it’s not a fair fight.
Now, if she had said I’m just like her dad, except I’m not a genius at making electricity out of two sticks, an ounce of water and a paperclip, I’d have to agree with her.