I learned something by watching my Dad today. Not how to fix the garage door opener that's jammed shut, now how to straighten the fence that is leaning into my neighbor's yard, and not how to fix the heater so my wife's toes don't freeze this winter. He helped me with all of these problems, but he didn't fix any of them. What I learned is that I, like my father, am more interested in problems than solutions.
This realization dawned on me as I looked at the bottom of my Dad's shoes while he was trying to figure out why the bathroom sink leaked. I didn't read it in the rubber soles of his Sear's brand shoes (even though I'd been staring at them for the last two hours, there wasn't any insight there). But I was starting to figure it out when he called up to me "What's that for?".
There was excitement in his voice. He called me down under the sink to help him identify whatever it was that had caught his fancy. "You see that?". He was shining the flash light beam on a little half-inch copper pipe, poking up through the floor. "Uh huh," I said, hoping my voice didn't carry any of the uncertainty I felt.
I was sure I should have known what that pipe was for, but I didn't. My Dad always seems to know when I'm trying to hide my ignorance, and he likes to call me on it. He said, "Do you know what that's for?". He was on to me. I didn't really have any choice. I stammered about a bit, and then asked him, "You mean this pipe? The little copper one?". He drawled out, very slowly, almost like a caricature of the Minnesotan he is, "Yah". "Umm, hmm, let me look at it a bit better. Can I have the flash light?"
Stalling sometimes works at times like these. He gets too impatient and lets something slip. I scooted under the sink as he inched out of the way. We both couldn't fit under in there at once. Taking the flashlight, I shined it over the pipe. Seeing nothing unusual, I put my hands on the pipe, tested the cap, looked behind the pipe, and finally shut the flashlight off. He hadn't said a word. I was stuck.
"Nope, what's it for?" I finally asked. He sat back and wiped his hands on a rag and said, "No idea, let's go downstairs and see if we can find it there."
He wasn't as interested in helping me stop the leak that started there under the bathroom sink, slinked through the sub-floor, and dripped through the supporting beam onto my kitchen floor. He was interested in why the half-inch copper pipe poked up through the floor from who-knows-where. I scrambled out from under the sink and realized, as I grabbed the toolbox, and hurried off after him, so I was I.
