In the days of cavemen, the handyman didn’t really have to know very much. It wasn’t like he could fix and repair a rock. There were plenty of extra rocks. If he could make a stick with a pointy end on it, his skills were in high demand.

Which is how, I think, the lore of the handyman got started. Man went from wooden tools to bone tools because some guy saw the skeleton of a carcass one day and thought about what he could do with it. He experimented. He wasn’t afraid to disconnect the hip bone from the leg bone. Next thing you know, he had a pointy thing he could tie to a stick and everybody else wanted one.

This is the quintessential spirit of the handyman. He looks at some appliance that doesn’t work and he’s not afraid to take it apart. He looks at a pile of used lumber and wonders what it could become. He doesn’t really know about wiring. He’s not necessarily a trained carpenter. But he has loads of curiosity about how stuff works.

And the most important part…he doesn’t think about failing. He thinks about learning something useful. And if he succeeds, he gets his toaster back and maybe a new deck at his back door.

My dad was decently handy when it came to taking care of the house and farm. I know that a lot of us have this big memory of our dads. We say things like, “He could fix anything.” Which was not necessarily true of my dad, but what was true is that he was completely unafraid to try his hand at about anything.

While I was away at college, Dad got the notion to enclose the porch off the den. He wanted a fireplace. Knocking out the back wall of the den and putting up a new one at the back edge of the porch was the easiest way to get that done. The firebox could sit outside the eave, and the chimney could go up without having to cut a hole in the roof.

While all of this was happening, I’d use the pay phone down the hall at my dormitory to check in with Dad on the progress. I never really questioned whether he could do the work, but mind you, the most complicated carpentry work I’d ever seen my dad do was to build the stateside bodies on our truck for hauling cows to the sale barn.

He did make a backyard table for us one time. He  attached some galvanized pipe flanges in the corners of a sheet of plywood and screwed in four pieces of threaded pipe for legs. He soaked the plywood; he soaked everything with copper naphthenate to keep it from rotting. It took a few years, but the table finally sagged in the middle. I think we were cutting watermelon on it when it caved to the ground.

I remember being proud of him when he got the room finished. He laid brick. He put up a support beam where he moved the wall. He took the door from the “moved” wall and hung it in the new wall. He even added framing for big glass windows all around the fireplace.

Dads like that are the guys who inspire the next generation of handymen.

When I was about 12 or13 we had an old push mower that quit working. It was banged up. One of the wheels was broken. It smoked like a diesel train right before it died. Dad wasn’t gonna even try to fix it.

He told me, “Why don’t you take it apart and see what’s in there.”

It was a challenge to do something I’d never done. Something I had no idea how to do. He gave me a few wrenches and reminded me of that sage old wisdom that every handyman lives by. “Lefty loosey. Righty tighty.”

Fifty-five years later, I’m still not what I would call a mechanic. But I’m not afraid to take something apart and fiddle with it.

That’s what we guys do. We fiddle with stuff. Sometimes we get it to work. Sometimes we ask for help. And sometimes, these days anyway, we look it up on YouTube.

Every handyman loves the hardware store. This is his house of dreams. He can get a piece of wire to fix the lamp that doesn’t work. Wait. He keeps extra wire in a box somewhere on a shelf.

He goes there for three 2x4s and comes home with extra glue, a box of screws, an outlet tester on clearance, and a new set of Allen wrenches because all of his are either scattered or lost.

So, I’m the guy with the 2x4s and I’m standing in the glue aisle. I have on the handyman flannel shirt. The spot where my glue is supposed to be is empty. I’m waiting on a store associate who is combing through her phone looking for my glue.

While I’m waiting another handyman shows up. Middle age. Stout build. Red hair. Red T-shirt. Red ball cap. He patiently stands back gazing at the glue over the associate’s shoulder.

She tells me, “I’m sorry sir but we seem to be out of that glue.”

I thank her for looking. Handyman #2 steps up closer to the display and speaks.

“There are so many different kinds of glue.”

“I know. But not my glue. I’ve gotta make a decision.”

“Me too. I need to fix my waterproof boots. The seam is coming apart which kinda makes them not waterproof.”

This is a true handyman. Boots coming apart. No need to replace them, just glue ‘em up and keep going. I like this guy. He picks up two or three different types of glue and finally settles on the liquid nail.

“My dad fixed my boots one time with liquid nail. I came home from school one day and Dad said he was working on my boots for me. He was a mess.”

“I know what you mean.”

“My boots were sitting by the heater. He had wrapped duct tape around the toe of each boot, and he sat a brick on top for extra weight.”

His dad said, “That should do it. That liquid nail is good stuff. When it sets up, we’ll take the tape off and they should be as good as new.”

“Sounds a lot like my dad,” I said.

“Yup. I’ve learned a lot from him. He’s in his eighties now. I can’t imagine what it’s gonna be like without him one of these days.”

“I know what you mean.”

I made my choice and picked up my glue. As I started to walk on down the aisle, I turned back.

“Good luck with the boots. Be sure to tell your dad thanks for all the help.”

Whatever I know about being a handyman I owe to my dad. Not because he taught me everything I needed to know. Some things I’ve had to learn on my own. But because he taught me that there’s value in trying.

I also bought a box of band aids today, because sometimes when I fix stuff, I bleed.