'Work like a man'

Anytime I assemble a new tool or toy, I channel my dad. No matter how daunting the step-by-step instructions, I consider “What Would Joe See Do?” Lay everything on a large, neat workspace. Sequence parts to match the directions. If you make a bad turn, exclaim, “Oh schmuck.”

Joe See phrases still rattle around in my head, though he’s been dead five years now. When I recently put together a new recumbent exercise bike, I heard his voice: “Don’t tighten those bolts till you’re sure.”

If I was truly channeling my dad, I’d be whistling. For him, puckering up and twirping a tune from Sunday Mass or the tavern jukebox was calming and apparently made every task fun. Or it sounded that way to me.

Years before Dad died, I put together a gas grill while my husband supervised from the recliner. Bruce was down and out with the flu but healthy enough to look up from his movie and tell me, “Yep, that looks right.”

My last step: attach the grill’s metal cover. Easy-peasy, I thought. When I closed it, there was a two-inch gap. I’d put the dang thing on backwards. The remedy: undo my last four steps. Fortunately, I had not tightened my bolts. When I realized I’d have to reassemble the grill I said more than “oh schmuck,” but it rhymed with that phrase.

The next day, I visited my dad and described in detail how I was admiring my new grill — put together in a little under three hours — and noticed my error. He just giggled.

Then, “Well, what did you do?”

“Just left it,” I lied. “I think we’ll use it that way for a while.”

“That’s the worst idea I ever heard,” he said. I burst out laughing.

My father was never one for “I love you” or even compliments of any kind. He might talk up his eight kids to other people but never to our faces. He was a humble man, and he expected the same humility in his children. Hearing too much praise might lead to an overinflated ego — a mortal sin according to Dad.

After my grill construction story, Dad told me, “You work like a man.” This was around 2017. He never cared about being politically correct. The most successful women I knew at some point worked harder than any man in her profession, but for Joe See this was the ultimate compliment, especially about one of his six daughters. Truth is, I still bust my butt like Joe See, not just any man.

Another dad and daughter duo, Bo and Emily Petterson, create videos filled with “dad advice.” Emily films Bo showing viewers how to tie a tie, shave, buy a used car and other young adult matters.

Emily convinced her shy dad to make videos to assist 20-somethings who might not have a father present. On their webpage, Dad Advice from Bo [“Just a dad on TikTok and Instagram — whatever that is”], he says his goal is to help young people find their footing in the world.

In the beginning Emily’s recordings were meant for only herself and Bo’s other five kids, but one of her first reached over a million views. Bo says, “I’m not an expert in everything ... it’s still just Emily and I filming the content and having a few laughs.”

She says, “My dad does a great job of teaching things concisely but also showing people that whatever is weighing on you has probably an easier solution than you think. You just need someone to light the way.”

My father wasn’t one to offer advice. Looking back, I see his actions were more important than anything he might have said. Dad lived within his means, even when he no longer needed to pinch every penny. If his shoes wore out, he’d cut off the backs and turn them into what we affectionately dubbed “Joe See clogs.” Easy to slip on and still functional. He loved to bargain hunt. If there was a good deal at Gordy’s — his all-time favorite grocery store — and the coupon limited him to one, he’d buy the hotdog buns or diet Sierra Mist, go out to his car and deposit his groceries, then come back in for another sale item. I don’t think he fooled anyone by paying at a different checkout; he did, however, sometimes save another 50 cents.

For my dad, the only thing worse than a big head might be wasting food. He once came to my house for dinner and accidentally doused his bowl of lettuce. Unlike his bottle at home, which you had to squeeze to get the salad dressing through a small opening, this one had a wide mouth. He dumped maybe three times more than expected, ate his greens swimming in ranch, then asked for a spoon. “Really?” I said. “What,” he responded, “I’m not going to throw it away.” Of course not.

Dad always showed up, and he worked until the job was done.

During a recent visit to my son’s house in Texas, Alex and I sat in his backyard on a lovely spring morning. All I could focus on were his overgrown garden beds and gangly bushes. Would I just sit there when weeds were ravaging his smooth-barked crape myrtle trees? I convinced Alex to loan me a pair of his coveralls and boots. Soon he joined me. I pruned by hand for delicate cuts, and he used his saw to lop off branches. Over two mornings we cleaned up six beds and two rows of bushes. These visits are precious to me — for the help I can offer him and the fun.

Once children leave home, parents will already have used up 90% of the time they’ll ever spend together — for the rest of our lives and theirs. If hours were dollars, we’d all feel broke.

When Alex and I sat with a beer and admired his yard, I offered my son a See family compliment: “Wow,” I teased, “you work like a man.”