My dad once claimed he could fix anything but a broken heart. I remember a few broken toys he glued, taped, or snapped back together and so I fell for this blatant lie for years. Then, when my 1971 Oldsmobile decided to need a new freeze plug and was leaking water and anti-freeze all over the yard, Uncle Tommy could fix anything but a broken heart.
Need a ceiling fan installed, call dad. Need a car fixed, he'd help you find someone else who could do that, but it never was going to be a cheap fix.
I sold the car soon after for a few hundred dollars.
But this was not before I learned a lesson. Or three.
Lesson one: Dads are liars.
I have thoroughly convinced my daughter that I am as strong as the Incredible Hulk, as smart as Einstein, and as interesting as that old fart who drinks rarely drinks beer (I never drink anything except soda or water, so I would argue I'm even more interesting).
Dads keep this lie going for as long as they can, I believe, for two reasons. 1. Dad's need all the ego boost they can get. We work hard (well, some of us do) and often times at thankless jobs where we don't feel appreciated. Our wives know that we're human, but no matter how much they appreciate us, our kids make us feel like super-powered-zombie-killers. 2. Its okay for our kids to be a little bit scared of us. I'm not saying that they should be afraid in the way the gypsies were afraid of Count Dracula (If you don't understand this, read a book once in a while, sheesh!). I mean in the way the citizens of Gotham are afraid there's a Batman out there in the streets. Sure, he must be a powerful being, but he's there to protect them and has their best interests at heart.
Lesson two: Dads are going to fail you sometimes.
Hey, we're human. My dad couldn't fix my car for free just like I won't be able to explain all of Evie's geometry homework to her one day. It doesn't mean I won't try my hardest to figure everything out and take our combined knowledge to crank out some serious math, but I promise she's still going to miss a few equations and angles and whatever else goes on in math besides balancing a checkbook.
Lesson three: Dads all want to be MacGyver.
Mac could find find a way to escape from a bank vault with a Q-tip and a rubber band. A Q-tip!
Today, I fell prey to this. I was having lunch with a friend and brought Evie along, but noticed she kept getting her hair in the food. I had forgotten a hair-tie. Ponytail holder. Whatever you call it.
I did, however, have a shoelace. A spare, clean shoelace, so don't go thinking I yanked something off my sneakers. Don't ask why I had a spare, that's not part of the story. But it was clean and I had one, so I looped it a couple of times and tied up Evie's hair. It worked wonderful.
Then some lady took pity on my daughter like any person with a heart and a hair band would, and gave me a spare hair tie of her own.
Either way, my hair thingy worked beautifully. I stand by it one hundred percent.
Just don't pick at it or it may come untied.
