The Curse of the Handyman Dad

No, I am not getting into crime writing, and if this is the name of a murder mystery novel that has somehow escaped my attention, I apologise now.

No, this is about my Dad. I love him to death, don't get me wrong, but he and I have some differences. He has always been very 'handy' - I don't know exactly what that means, but I reckon it is all about the context. In the context of films involving 70's disco style guitar soundtracks and the milkman/pool cleaner/delivery guy/policeman/fireman/guy with large schlong, it means one thing. This is different - I am talking about being able to fix stuff, make stuff - you know.

My Dad is very good at all of this. He made me a mini bike when I was a kid, which is about the coolest thing you can have as an 8 year old. He has restored lots of furniture, even to the point of having done French Polishing courses (and no, that also has nothing to do with the movies mentioned above). He has even spent countless hours restoring a few antiques that I bought in crap condition for a song, to the point where they are gorgeous. He most recently bought a 1969 MG to play with, as he has been retired for a while now, and is clearly bored, having restored as much furniture as his house will hold, made most of his garden into a Japanese garden on speed (the garden, not him), and run out of other ideas. So what is my problem, I hear you ask?

Glad you did. It makes me look bad. I know, what a wanky thing to say. Now I am not completely hopeless in these things myself, but certainly not incredibly gifted either. My parents divorced when I was 8, so never really had those days where I spent the whole time helping my Dad in the garage. I firmly believe that this is where you osmose handyman skills. This means that if someone tells me what to do in the handyman game, I will do it, but otherwise have little idea of how to do stuff myself.

I mean, sure, I have made bits and pieces of shelving, even a computer box on wheels back in those days when laptops were for the rich and famous and I wanted to move my desktop around the house, but my Dad is really really good at this, whereas my skills lie... in different areas. Hidden, subtle areas. Areas so subtle I am yet to explore them myself. But I digress. I guess this is kinda my way of saying that I am actually quite proud of my Dad, but does he have to show me up?

What about your folks?