I Should Have Listened to My Dad

I should have listened to my dad.

All those years, growing up on the farm, he tried to tell me.

He showed me how to change my oil, how to fix leaky pipes, how to grow my own vegetables so I didn’t have to run to Wal-Mart every time I needed a taco tomato.

But, as he liked to say, he might as well have been talking to that fence post.

All those things he tried to teach me, and I didn’t retain a lick of it.

If you ranked me on a usefulness scale, from Paris Hilton to Bob Vila, I’d probably come in about a Pauly Shore. I wouldn’t be much use on a deserted island, but if you owned a comedy club, you might let me sweep up.

So now here I am, owner of $157 worth of a house (the credit union owns the rest), and already I’ve got a long list of honey-dos without any clue.

Dad fixed fighter jets, tinkered on tanks and grew his own cows. He built most of the second floor of our house by himself.

I can barely put together a little living room table.

I looked at the online do-it-yourself instructions for ceiling fan installation, and I might as well have been looking at blueprints for an atomic bomb.

Just persuading my weed eater to start is as hard as picking up girls in college, and I can’t give my weed eater alcohol.

This, of course, isn’t the first time I found out the hard way Dad was right. He always told me to study hard in school, that my future depended on it. Who knew (besides Dad) I’d spend a decade paying, in the form of monthly college loan payments, for not doing my eighth-grade algebra homework.

My little brother’s tuition is paid for at Western Kentucky. And there’s no way he’s smarter than me. Except he knows good advice when he sees it.

I always thought people in Meade County only drove big trucks because it was the cool thing to do; I’m quickly learning my Cavalier is about as useful as I am. I actually considered buying a small truck when I bought that car, but the lot only had manual transmissions, and I was of the opinion that if manual transmissions were so great, they wouldn’t have invented automatics.
So I never let Dad teach me to drive a stick.

Yes, sir, guess I’ll pay that delivery fee. And I’ll pay you to change my oil. And to grow me vegetables.

Eventually I’m going to have to fix a furnace, patch a roof and maybe put in some new tiles.
I saw Dad put in some new tiles once.

It didn’t look so hard when he did it.

Columnist Jacob Bennett is ok, ‘cause you have that affect on him. He needs you desperately; you know he needs you desperately at jacobmbennett@hotmail.com.