When I was growing up, my dad fixed everything. He did plumbing, electrical and auto repair. When he and my mom needed more space in our small house, he added on a family room, kitchen and bedroom. It was my impression that all men could fix things, until I married the Big Daddy. He’s never embraced the home repair part of owning a home.
Recently, the toilet tank wasn’t filling completely with water, so I passed that info on to him. Many times. The Fam was due in for a visit and just before D-Day, he got to work on it. “I’m going in,” he says, like he’s on the SWAT team going after a guy who’s barricaded himself in the house with his grandma and a shitload of explosives. When I offer to help, he says hell no, I don’t want you anywhere near me. That, kids, is what makes a happy marriage.
On that lazy Sunday afternoon, I got engrossed in Marley and Me. Oh, how that movie makes me cry especially since my own Marley is getting old. In the family move from Florida, the kids growing up and Marley slowing down, I forgot about the drama unfolding in the next room with the plumbing repairs. Fifteen minutes later, THE BIG DADDY HERO comes out of the bathroom with one repaired toilet, one cuss-free plumbing job and confidence out the wazzoo, like he’s just taken down the perp and saved the hostages.
It is done, he says. And that, kids, is what ya call a turning point.
