I wrote this column for Shore Magazine. Today, on the anniversary of the first Home Depot opening (in 1978), I thought it was appropriate to post it once again. It's called "Unhandy Man"
I used to feel guilty about my
skills as a handyman. I don’t have any. I’m more of a “Wow your hands are
really soft, do you use Palmolive?” kind of guy. If it’s broken, I can’t fix
it. That’s not just being defeatist, that’s fifty-plus years of experience
saving me lots of heartache and humiliation. And I used to feel very guilty
about it.
After all, I’m a
man, a son, a husband, and a father. For years I felt the shameful sting of
being unhandy. My widowed mother would give me that “Where did I go wrong?”
look when she asked for my help with something in her house. My wife would give
me that “I didn’t read the fine print when I married this guy” look every time
something broke in our house. My three sons said “How can I ever be handy when
you’re my father?” with their eyes. Each and every look from them was a dagger.
The shame I felt
wasn’t confined to my family’s opinion of me—it was a society-wide shame. When
we would go to neighborhood parties, the men would inevitably congregate near
the grill, and I would pray the conversation never turned to home improvement
projects. If it did, I knew better than to contribute anything at all to the
conversation. I was certain that handy men could smell un-handiness on other
men the way dogs smell fear. Any word, any exchanged eye-contact, would expose
me. I had a key word or phrase in my back pocket just in case (say “intake
manifold” or “drill chuck”), but I only uttered these in uncomfortable silence
emergencies.
But that was the
old me. I no longer feel guilty, and I no longer feel shame, because I
discovered something very important: Nobody in the world is handy.
You read that
correctly.
“Hey wait a
minute!” handy-ish guy replies, “I built the addition to my house myself with
decorative rocks and a sandblaster.”
Fine. I’ll grant
you, that’s quite impressive. But be honest with me; you’ve had to call a
workman at least once or twice over the years, maybe even to “fix” something
you already fixed, haven’t you? Did that person utter the following phrase?
“Whoever worked on
this before didn’t know what the heck he was doing.”
That’s what I
thought. Don’t feel bad. They say that to everyone, even other handy guys.
Maybe you’ve even said it yourself when some unhandy friend asked you to help
them out. It’s inevitable. It’s as much a part of the home improvement process
as the building supplies themselves (note: I won’t attempt to identify what those
are). Before the last nail is hammered, someone will utter the words:
“Whoever worked on
this before didn’t know what the heck he was doing.”
It’s not an
exaggeration to say I’ve heard it every single time anyone has done any work in
my house. The first ten or fifteen years I heard it, I bought it. I figured I
was simply living in bad homes with bad plumbing, appliances, electric,
drywall, insulation, siding, windows, bricks, and concrete. Talk about bad
luck.
It wasn’t until I
heard the same phrase being used at a handy friend’s house when he had a
workman out there, that I finally experienced an epiphany.
A gigantic weight
has been lifted from my shoulders now that I know the secret. There are men all
over the neighborhood working on their own homes who aren’t handy—they are at
best “sort of handy.” And there are men all over the world making a living as
“handymen” who will one day be called “someone who didn’t know what the heck he
was doing” by the next handyman who comes by.
I’m no longer
upset I can’t do it myself. From now on, when my wife or mother or sons give me
that look, I’ll just walk away guilt free. When the guys at the neighborhood
party start talking, I won’t be ashamed or avoid the conversation. I’ll just
admit the truth unapologetically.
“I use the yellow
pages, fellas, because I don’t know what the heck I’m doing.”
There I said it.
Now where did I
put my Palmolive? My baby soft hands are feeling a little dry.
