Saturday, September 10, 2011

I am my father's daughter...

Alright, so I have never been a "daddy's girl."  At least not that I can remember...  I think I butt heads with good-ole Dad too much to be a daddy's girl.  But I have to admit I am my father's daughter.
I tend to be most reminded of this when I have a project to do, a task that needs tackling.  Or just whenever it is left up to me to put something together.  I have never been one to sit back and let someone else do all the work.  Don't get me wrong, if I don't want to do something, I have no problem letting someone else take over!  I just tend to be able to look at a project and find a way to work it out.  Not to toot my own horn, but there have even been occasions that other people have had to listen to what I am saying (and do what I tell them) because I see the light at the end of the tunnel Like moving large objects from one room to another...  I can see how they need to be turned to get them through that tricky doorway or corner.  I have no problem using a drill, screwdriver, hammer, I have even used a level once or twice to hang a shelf!  When we needed a ceiling fan hung in one of the bedrooms and I waited a "reasonable" amount of time for the hubby to do it, I got the ladder and the tools and hung the damn thing myself.  Yes, it's still up (for about four years now) and no it has never injured anyone with parts flying off or burning out fuses or tripping breakers!  I can be quite handy when I want to be, or need to be.
So where does my dad fit in?  Well, first of all, my dad is a one-of-a-kind MacGyver.  Yes, I know many of our fathers are self-proclaimed Jack's of all trade, but my dad (and I'm so not bragging) can fix pretty much anything with very little training.  I've seen him fix everything from a car to a VCR.  He's constantly fiddling with his computer, building and re-building, and we all know he can fix an HVAC system like nobody's business.  Countless Christmas' of building (and later fixing) toys.  He has a way about looking at something and getting down to the problem.  I wouldn't say I am as adept at fixing problems as he is, but it is interesting to see how I approach fix-it jobs.  I realize that most men do not read instructions.  I'm not sure how women are, perhaps they are the same.  I tend to be in the first catagory.  Don't misunderstand, I do save the instructions.  I find them in the box and put them away in a drawer, I'm a bit of a hoarder that way.  Sometimes I will even glance at the pictures before I file the manual, but generally I'm a "dig-in-there" kind of fix-it girl.  I do not always see the fix as fast as I imagine my dad would, and I am thankful to know that all those years of fishing taught me the patience to know when I need to search through my drawer of booklets and located the instructions for whatever I am working on.  I have built a few bookshelves, my sewing desk, even assisted in putting together my little girls dresser.  I've used a jackhammer too!
So, this is where I get to the point of being my father's daughter.  Dad is doing a motorcycle run in memory of some deceased friends and he asked me to make him a patch.  Yes, a patch, with my embroidery machine.  He gave me some basic (very basic) ideas of what he wanted it to say and the colors he wanted and left me to task.  I start playing around with the embroidery program and come up with a few ideas.  The first samples I gave him were okay, a little hard to read, and dad wanted them smaller.  Back to the drawing board!  Every time I made the damn things smaller they kept jacking up my machine!  Too much thread, couldn't read the dumb thing, the machine even broke one of my bobbins!  A full bobbin!!!  And I don't have that many to begin with!!!  Couldn't save the yards and yards of bobbin thread, frustrated, hot, tired (mostly just brain tired from the dozen half-completed testers) I finally regained my patience and searched for the "help" button.  I even located the pdf instruction manual.  Next run, on the computer the things looked terrible!  But they stitched out much better.  Brought him three samples and he picked one to "mass produce."  Now I just need to get them finished.  Tonight.
I tell you what...  The minute I started getting frustrated, the first thing that pops in my head is to throw the computer against a wall and smash the embroidery machine with a hammer.  Knowing I can't afford to fix or replace these items, my next thought is to call Dad and have him fix it.  In the end, I take that deep breath, look for the instructions, and work it all out.  Perhaps I'm less my father's daughter than I thought...

No comments:

Post a Comment