The following is something that a friend of mine wrote about his latest experience with home ownership and, more importantly, about his dad:
I’m upstairs. Two floors upstairs. I hear absolute unequivocal hysteria. Hysterical screaming. The female unit is flipping out. I run downstairs, leaping stairs, expecting to find a gang of Albanians ‘taken’ her away. Turns out the basement is flooding. I’m dismayed. No Albanians. Instead a silent laminating seepage of water is slowly making its way through the basement. The sump pump has stopped working. Still there is screaming.
Cool as a cucumber I walk over to the valve – the back-up sump valve – and twist. The water retreats, barely a perceptible dampness left on a tiny stretch of basement. I look at the female unit, wondering what god has wrought on us men.
The main sump pump is dead. Kicked it. Restarted it. Unplugged it. Threw the breaker. Plugged it. Kicked it more. Dead.
I prepare for financial grab-ankle: time to call the plumber. Cancel the vacation. I’ll be buried as a pauper in a pine kitty litter box.
Dad calls.
“Hi Son!” He happened to be near our neighborhood.
“Hi dad. Sump broke dad.”
5 minutes later, 65 year old dad is banging on the door. Wearing black from head to toe. Dad Ninja. 1 min later he’s got his head down the sump orifice. 2 min later the sump is on the lawn. Sump busted down, hosed in and out, gunk removed. Garden hose and sump placed in red 10 gallon basket, sump does imitation of Brooklyn fire hydrant. Sump works again. Sump back in orifice. All good. No damage. No problems. Female unit pissed. Mops itty bitty damp corner of basement.
Dad pats m’head. Leaves.
Bye dad.
Chances are if you’re reading this, you have a Father. You may not have a dad. A real dad. But you have a Father at least. Sometimes we’re only blessed with a sperm donor, and not a real dad.
I have a dad. A real dad.
For as long as I can remember, my dad has been the person I go to when something is broken, not running, or not working the way it’s supposed to. VCR broken? Dishwasher not drying? Washing machine not agitating? Car not running? Call dad.
“Call Dad” is in the basic instructions for how I run my life.
Now that I’m getting older, I’ve begun thinking about the things that my kids might come to me with. And it has occurred to me, the more I think about it, that I would make a pretty decent father. I’ve learned by example. I’ve learned from the best.
My dad, and a good number of people from my family, but my dad especially, have taught me just about everything a person needs to know. I know how to change the brakes on my car. I can do a tune up. I can change my oil. I can swap a battery. Hell, I can probably replace an engine or transmission if I needed.
Would it take me longer than my dad? Of course. But I could do it.
And it doesn’t stop there.
I know how to properly slaughter chickens, turkeys, rabbits, pigs, and cows. I know how to clean, service, put together and dismantle all manner of rifles, shotguns, and handguns. I can fix, or at least diagnose, most electrical issues with large and small appliances. I can build a perfect fire, chop wood, foriage for food, hunt, fish, and clean and gut just about every manner of animal or foul.
I can write a good story, a decent account of the world, or a simple poem. I can apply first aid, provide CPR, and comfort the sick or dying. I’m calm in a crisis, able to give orders or follow them, and know when to stand back and out of the way.
I can fix, upgrade, build, and program a computer, write a song, build a house, raise a barn, care for livestock, and milk a cow. And a goat. I can weld and repair simple metal fractures, fix broken wooden objects and joists, and BBQ a perfect steak. I can install pad, carpet, and vinyl. I can fix a water heater, replace a broken shower head, and do simple plumbing.
My dad, my grandfather(s), and my step-dad all had a hand in my upbringing. And really, the more I think about it, the more I realize how well rounded and important a lot of it has become. I’ve become the type of person that people can (and usually do) come to when they have a problem. I’m the type of person that my child will listen to and know that if I don’t know how to do something, I can find out.
My dad is amazing. He always has been. One day, I hope to be at least as good as him. If I ever accomplish that monumental feat, I will honestly believe that I’ve made it. A good dad. A good example.