At the risk of revealing my age, my ‘Blackberry’ device during my stint at University came in the form of a large, off-white telephone / fax machine. Dad had picked it up at the Durban Car Boot Sale for a song, and it sure as hell beat the postal service (at that time and, sadly, still today!). Mom and I would take turns at typing up long newsy tomes, printing them out and then faxing them to each other every week or so. I found myself consistently fascinated each time the slimy fax paper rolled out my end, all the way from Durban! I soon learnt that the text eventually faded over time, and recognized several benefits to that end too!
Anyway – I digress. This prehistoric contrivance finally packed up one day, and I asked my ‘first love’ if he could please fix it. He looked at it with his eyes, and officially declared it irreparable. That was my genius, electrical engineering student-come-pianist/guitarist boyfriend. I promptly sent him home on his skateboard. In frustration, I looked at it myself and with my hands. I took every component apart, systematically, such that I could put it back together again. I cleaned and polished each part, whilst speaking to them very nicely and with the utmost respect. Once it was reassembled – Voila! It worked again.
It was not only my financial paucity which bred such resolve on my part, but it was because I grew up with my father, the ‘Resurrection Man’. Mom always said: ‘Your Dad has never made millions, but he has certainly saved us millions…’ And that he has. He could fix just about everything. And if he couldn’t, he knew enough to ensure that the mechanic / electrician / plumber, you name it did not ‘rip’ us off!
For example, they threw out an oscillating fan at Mom’s workplace, and she asked if she could take it home because her husband would find some of the parts useful. Of course they obliged – for them it was nothing more than an inanimate carcass. That evening, father sat quietly in the lounge, in front of the television, dismantling the fan with his Duputryen’s contracture-riddled hands. He was still busy when we all went to bed. Next morning, the fan was working as though it had been purchased new!
So – in effect, I have been spoilt. I am used to 'handy' men. Men who can do more than change a light bulb, that is! But, to my horror and disappointment, I venture to say that this breed of male is fast approaching extinction. Perhaps it is because most of the youth today want to study to become directors, managers and supervisors! Perhaps it is because technology is, undoubtedly, making us all decidedly languid. Maybe this is also linked to the fact that we have become a generation of both profligacy and hedonism, which is probably exactly why we have entered a global economic recession at this point.
What I do know is that the young men of today (and I generalize, of course) have better manicured hands than I do! They have no idea how to change spark plugs, and probably don’t even know what they are. They are quick to throw something away when it’s no longer working, which is probably a good thing because few have the attention span to even pay it the consideration it deserves. Leaking pipes, broken washing machines, collapsed fridge doors, faulty locks, defective wiring – we ladies have enough on our plates, dear! And don’t tell me it’s us women who are leaving you feeling emasculated. It’s you who can turn this around. Become our heroes, and you get to feel like one! All it takes is a little initiative mixed together with concentration, patience and, I am afraid, some serious elbow grease.
It’s blue and pink. Give it a think.
No comments:
Post a Comment