As a Man, I Have Failed You

When I was five years old, I had a singular purpose in life: to become a man.

At five years old, the path to manhood seemed straightforward. If you want to be a man, get a job with the word “man” in the title. Like mailman, door-to-door salesman, or milkman. I looked up to those guys. They were men. It said so on their business cards.

But the man I looked up to most was my dad, who was the greatest man I ever knew.

Hence on a balmy summer night in the tender fifth year of my life, I interrupted dinner with a grand proclamation.

“When I grow up, I’m going to be a machine tool repairman, just like my dad!”

My father grunted, my mom slurped her soup, and I went to bed that night chanting “I am a repairMAN! I am a repairMAN!”

There’s more to manhood than what’s on your business card

The next day my dad came home from work, dropped his lunch pail on the counter, and dragged me out back by my ear. Sitting in our backyard, on a rickety picnic table, was a transmission from a 1970 Chevrolet Vega.

“Alright, boy,” he said. “If you want to be a machine tool repairman you can start by overhauling that transmission.”

Then he went back inside to watch M.A.S.H.

I stared at the transmission, pondering the possible definitions of “overhaul.”

I wandered into the shed, picked up a screwdriver and hammer, and returned to consider the transmission. What happened next is blank, but as far as I can remember I decided “overhaul” meant walking down the street to play catch with Billy Nolan.

Apparently, being a man had something to do with fixing things. I was caught off-guard by this new information and needed time to process it.

I have no idea what happened to the transmission.

As a man, I have failed you

If fixing things is a requirement of manhood, my business card is blank.

It’s not that I haven’t tried. Oh, I’ve tried, alright. And things got worse every time.

I won’t bore you with the story of how I shredded the transmission on my 1967 Chevrolet Impala while replacing the windshield wipers.

Or all the “extra parts” I collected while repairing laptops for an IT company.

Or the five-minute toilet repair that turned into a flooded bathroom and a call to 911.

Just believe me when I say that as a handyman, I struggle.

But does that make me less of a man?

I’ve known guys who, after working in an office all day, spend their weekends fixing up old cars, building decks, and growing beards. Skills I’ve yet to acquire.

I was driving the other day and saw a car on the side of the road, hood up, and a man working on it with a shiny set of tools he had in a red box by his feet.

And I wondered how I would survive without Triple-A.

That’s when it hit me. I may not have a Man card, but I darn sure have a Triple-A card. And I’m not afraid to use it.

I may not be man enough to fix my car, but I’m man enough to ask for help.

Man enough is man enough

Manhood is different for everyone. For me, it has nothing to do with overhauling transmissions. Or fixing toilets. Or even growing a beard.

So what if I can’t fix things? I can do other stuff. I can play piano. I can speak Dutch and Spanish. I’m very good at reading people. I can recommend a book on just about any subject you want. And I make a mean saag paneer.

I’m married to a wonderful woman who I love more than you can imagine. We’ve been married 25 years and I love her now more than ever. If love and loyalty aren’t key ingredients for manhood, they should be. And in my book, they are.

I’m not saying I can’t improve. I can, and I should. I hope to be a better man tomorrow than I was today. But I’m not going to let other men set the bar for me. I’ll set my own baseline, thank you, because it’s my life I’m working with.

And I think I am improving. Lately, I’ve been working on a goatee. It’s only been a few months, but I think it’s starting to come in.