I have never been a handy man. It comes from growing up with a single mom. If we needed a flat head screwdriver we’d go over to the silverware drawer and pull out a butter knife. If we needed a phillips screwdriver we’d go out to the family car and pull out the little tool kit that came with the car. So, I never had a chance.
After we bought our home I purchased at least three different power saws and I have used them all for a few projects around the house. I have certainly become more “handy” as home ownership has forced me to adapt.
With my learning curve being steep, I have now set a high standard when it comes to TheMonk. In his eyes, I can fix anything. Mostly, me fixing a toy means replacing the battery. But boy does he think that’s the most awesome thing ever! He’ll walk by with a toy that I replaced a battery to days earlier and he’ll stop, turn to me and say “Daddy fixed it!”
My biggest fear is that someday I won’t be able to fix it. He comes up to me holding a toy that no longer works and pleads with me, with his puppy dog eyes, to fix his beloved toy. “Fix it Daddy!” he’ll beg.
Last week it was a remote control car that we bought at the dollar store. TheMonk has no skill on steering the car so the car only stops when it hits something hard. Inevitably, the car stopped working. “Fix it Daddy!” he pleads with me, holding the car in his outstretched little hands.
I take the car and examine it. I determine that I will have to take it apart. I grab my small screw driver (no butter knife for me!) and go to work. I remove the bottom of the car and after fiddling around find that the motor had been slightly dislodged. I snapped it back in place, put the car back together and proudly handed over the fixed car to TheMonk who had been pacing nervously nearby while Daddy operated.
TheMonk inspected his car, gave it a test run and happily exclaimed “YAY! Daddy fixed it!”
Damn right I did.
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