Father’s Day gift ads are different from the Mother’s Day ads seen several weeks ago. There are no ads for flowers or candy or perfume. Instead, there are promotions for hardware—penknives, golf accessories, fishing paraphernalia. And handyman stuff, lots and lots of handyman stuff.
Many people equate dads with fix-it-up things. Not me. Growing up, I was much more likely to see my mom fixing a door handle, unclogging the bathroom drain or trimming the tree limbs in the front of our house. It was my mom who showed me how to paint a room and change the tire on our family station wagon. My dad, on the other hand, knew how to get things done by knowing who to call—the plumber, the tree guy, AAA.
My husband is slightly above what my dad was in the fix-it-up department. He is, though, infinitely more dangerous, since unlike my dad, he has a desire to tackle home projects. We’d barely moved into our home before my husband went on a hardware shopping spree returning with a drill, a circular saw, a ratchet set, and, of most concern in the hands of an amateur handyman, a chain saw. I was relieved when, after trying the saw a few times, my husband somehow managed to break it, effectively eliminating the chance of any catastrophic incident.
My brother-in-law, who knows how to use a chain saw, is the bona fide fix-it-up guy in our family. His home improvement projects include building a cedar closet, renovating a screened-in porch, and digging a six foot deep pond, complete with stone and cement bottom and waterfall. His signature project is a two-story club house with barn-style roof he built for his son. It is wired for electricity and has a window air conditioner. It even has a wrap-around porch and its own handcrafted mailbox. Basically, the playhouse is nicer than our house.
It’s not that there’s anything terribly wrong with our house, just the usual little imperfections one would expect after years of wear and tear—peeling paint, falling-apart screens, a slightly rotting porch. We were handling all this just fine until recently, when a new family moved into the home behind ours. The guy in that house has put us to complete shame. In a matter of months he’s cleared the trees, grown a perfectly green lawn, built a wooden sand box for his daughter, and erected a shed. His latest edition is a magnificent slate patio lined with flowers and potted plants. As if this weren’t enough, he put down a mulch border and added a comfy-looking hammock. This is all happening, mind you, as we are fixing our broken porch screens with duct tape.
On Father’s Day, as in the past, I’ll choose just the right card for my husband. I’ll head to the deli for his favorite breakfast—bagels, cream cheese and lox. I’ll urge him to play in his regular Sunday morning basketball game and watch a guilt-free day of ESPN. Later, the kids and I will make a nice dinner. This year, though, I think I’ll do something else. Yes, a gift card to Home Depot might help ease the pained look on my husband’s face when he gazes out over our neighbor’s yard.
(This column was originally published on townonline.com June, 2007)
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