On Fatherhood

The home project I call – Verily, Verily I say unto thee complete thy bathroom now before the warmth of spring sucks away thy will to work even as the rivers thaweth and the air warmeth – slowly consumes my soul. Thus, I’m sorry to say it seems, finding Wendell Berry has turned into, Finding Wendell Berry after I install, insulate, improve and generally cause a rucus in my basement, the dark confines of which are beginning to remind me of Edgar Allan Poe’s The Telltale Heart.

“Mama, why is there a dark man in our basement mumbling to the walls?”

“That’s your father dear.”

“What’s a father?”

My hyperbole is fearfully close to reality for it seems my every spare moment is spent in construction.  As a human being of the male persuasion, as some of you may be, I'm faced with the daunting task of being a father.  I know... with credentials like these how could we fail?  In the spirit of my new found Wendellian principle of neighborliness I've decided to let you in on my hard won knowledge as a father and plumber and carpenter and superhero in tights.  Its not much mind you, but it may be useful to you someday when the padded walls are closing in.  (Actually I admit, I'm doing this because I hope you will give me your own ideas.)

It is a challenge including your children in Wendellian endeavours.  I’ve found in the past that the best way to get young boys involved in my work, and by extension my fathering, is to give them a couple hammers and point at something. This may seem idiotic, (Not that I'm denying that possibility) but it works.  Keep in mind, that what you point at will soon be reduced to a pile of rubble, so wield your power prudently. 

This approach though has left me increasingly perplexed and strained by their endearing offers of help. I’m putting together now, not taking apart.  I'm on the long, long, long home stretch so in trying to keep entropy at a minimum its best to remove the primary agents of destruction.  “Go play somewhere, I’m working,” has become my mantra. Go ahead and point your fingers you involved and dedicated parents; you encouraging, loving, self-esteem endowing, family units; you smarmy bastards. Tisk away, but if you’ve ever held a level in your teeth while balancing a board on your forehead and an air nailer in the crook of your arm while attempting to plumb, level, and nail a stringer for a soffit and then had your three year old ask how he can help then you’ll know my circumstances. If not then in the timeless words of gospel I say unto you, “Ye without sin cast the first stone. All the rest of ya piss off.”

I don't know what to do about that.  I know you were on the edge of your seat waiting for a profound revelation but the truth is I have no clue.  I can only say, it came as a divine blessing last night that I had to remove the old door from the new hallway. Now any normal person would have popped the hinge pins and hauled the door out – done. I of course am a father of three boys so normalcy has long since departed from my life.

“Boys,” I said, “I need this door removed,” and I pointed the all powerful finger at the trembling hollow cored edifice.  They immediately began hooting and hollering. I handed them each a hammer and within twenty minutes the door had broken in half and fallen off its hinges onto their debris speckled heads. I hauled it away in buckets. They even removed the hinges with a screwdriver which took another twenty minutes, there being a little more dexterity involved, but I was proud of them. It was a beautiful picture – two of my boys sitting atop a small hill of construction debris concentrating all their powers of persuasion on a small brass screw.

When we were done I like to think they knew the dark mumbling man in the basement a little better and they’d learned something, although I couldn’t put it in a lesson plan for you. I’m sure I’d get sued if I did. But this raises a question among many. How do you find Wendell Berry and be a father? How does one combine the nature of fatherhood with these ideas? (Or motherhood for that matter.) How does one do for himself all that he can and still do well by his kids? Any thoughts?