Like father, unlike son

Each Father’s Day we celebrate dads and all they do to provide, protect and problem-solve. At my house we have to settle for the first two out of three.

Problem solving in the dad world usually means fixing things. In my world problem solving involves taking a leaky pipe and turning it into Old Faithful. For a project as simple as replacing a toilet seat, my wife and kids track my progress not by a stopwatch, but by a Day-Timer.

Can't we all just get along?

I’m the one male branch in the Leer family tree without mechanical skills. My father, a toolmaker for General Motors Corp. by trade, could tear an engine apart and put it back together with the precision of a NASCAR pit crew. His dad – my grandfather – was an auto mechanic. My Uncle Gene was a civil engineer in Chicago; my Uncle Dale, employed at a GM components plant. I’ve got a cousin who is a retired pipefitter, a nephew who rebuilds cars, and the list goes on.

Even my stepfather, who spent most of his working life selling insurance, knows his way around a home improvement store better than me. It doesn’t hurt that he works part time at Menard’s.

And then there’s me. Somehow I didn’t inherit the family Mr. Goodwrench gene. If examined under a high-powered microscope, my DNA would form the words “Mr. Good-grief-use-a-wrench.”

My fix-it failures are legend.

There was the time I installed a new doorknob/dead bolt set on our front door. I felt proud when the job was done, until I noticed my wife struggling to open the door. Turns out, I’d put the set on upside down.

Both the doorknob and dead bolt had to be turned in opposite directions to work. I shrugged and said, “I’m sure I followed the instructions. Well, at least this way, intruders will give up trying to break in.”

I cut my losses and left everything the way it was.

On another occasion I tried to repair a faulty bathtub faucet. After removing the hot/cold water knob and another couple of small pieces, I couldn’t get the valve to move. I put a pipe wrench around the valve and tugged hard to get the part to unscrew. Again, no luck. Finally, I concentrated all 165 pounds of me into the 2-inch metal piece.

Movement! But wait – I was bending the valve.

Fixing this bike tire took four hours. It might even work.

We called a plumber. He was impressed with my effort. He hadn’t seen many do-it-yourselfers come as close as I had to breaking the valve in two and the water line behind it. Another few minutes with me at the controls and the job might have required tearing out part of the bathroom wall.

Then there was the episode with my father-in-law’s car. He’d left it with us to watch over while he and my mother-in-law went on a vacation trip. One day just before they were to return, I noticed a tire was flat. I decided to save them the trouble and put the spare on myself.

It was difficult locating the designated spot under the car where the jack was to go, but after comparing the diagram in the owner’s manual with the underside of the vehicle, I went to work. About 20 minutes later the car was again on four good tires.

When the in-laws came to pick it up their vehicle I told my father-in-law about changing the flat. He looked down, then looked at me.

“Where did you put the jack?” he asked. “Right there,” I said, pointing to the spot.

“Are you sure that was the right place?” he said. “Look what happened.”

There, small but still visible to the naked eye, was a crease in the sheet metal just below a door. I’d missed the designated jack spot by a few inches.

I could recount other repairs that went awry, from breaking a light socket in our living room ceiling fan changing a bulb, to numerous unsuccessful attempts to stop rain water from getting into the attic, to clumsy lawnmower maintenance, to disassembling most of a cabinet because I missed an important step in the assembly instructions. And that’s just scratching the surface.

Maybe one day mechanical things will start making sense to me. Maybe tools and I will become friends rather than rivals. Maybe it will start with the door frame on our master bedroom that needs to be replaced.

Maybe – just maybe – it will be repaired by next Father’s Day. I’ve already marked it on the Day-Timer.