Introductions Round 2

My father's name: Bruce

Age: 58... though he will always be 45 in my mind. I'm not sure why. It use to be 42, because that's the first time I realized that my parents actually had birthdays and got older. So of course, their ages just fixed themselves in my mind. Go figure.

My father is many things. He is a handy man, a perfectionist, stubborn, bullheaded (yes I know they mean the same thing, but that's how serious I am about that description), and he's thorough in everything he does. Growing up, I use to help him with things around the house and learned this first hand. Every time we received a new appliance: washer, dryer, dishwasher, oven... I was right there to help him install it and without fail, the first thing he would instruct was to always make sure the power was off. If we installed new ceiling fans? Rule number one: make sure the power is off. Replacing the light switch or power outlet? Rule number one: make sure the power is off. Very thorough, very redundant. Annoyingly so. But that's what keeps you safe.

One thing my father is not, however, is sympathetic. I can remember hurting myself when I was younger and going to him saying I fell and hurt my knee, to which he would reply 'Then don't do it again'. If I couldn't find something? 'Then you shouldn't have put it there in the first place'. You're home sick? He's not. I called him home from work one night because my mother was very ill. What did he do? He came home and went to bed.

One of my favorite, yet personally least favorite stories about my father's lack of sympathy happened my sophomore year of high school. I had been MIA when it came to helping him around the house because I had developed a bit of an anomaly with my heart and was having to wear a heart monitor for a week which excused me from any strenuous activity. However, on this particular day, he needed my assistance with something small. He was replacing a broken belt on our dryer and couldn't reach it because his hand was too big, so he needed me to do it for him. No big deal. Conversation goes as follows:

Dad: Just reach under the barrel and you'll feel a round wheel. Guide the belt over that.

Me: Okay. Simple enough. (Gets on hands and knees and twists arm inside of the dryer, searching for this wheel he has told me about. Suddenly I tense and after a few silent seconds of a very strange sensation, I fly backwards a few feet.)

Dad: (looking at me laying on the ground)What's your problem?

Me: Y-you forgot to turn off the power.

Dad: (looks at the dryer and then back down at me, still laying on the ground. He laughs.) Whoops.

Needless to say, neither my mother nor my cardiologist were necessarily impressed with the 250 volt jump start to my heart. Dad thought it was funny as hell though.