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Ruth Renkel once said, “Sometimes the poorest man leaves his children the richest inheritance.” I can only assume that Ruth was talking about my pop.
The trouble is ... pop didn’t leave me his handyman skill set. Oh, I can write with the best of scribes and I can recite how many hits Pete Rose had in 1975 for the Big Red Machine. I can even tell you what actor starred in the supporting role opposite Clint Eastwood in the western, “The Good, The Bad and The Ugly.”
Dad gum father of mine, you failed to pass along your Bob Villa-like knowledge around the house. That could have come in handy the other day when I was trying to fix my dryer.
By the way, the answer to the Eastwood question is Eli Wallach and Lee Van Cleef.
The answer to changing out the electrical chord on my dryer is ... I haven’t the slightest idea!
My father was a carpenter by trade. The man could build a house from the ground up. He also taught himself to work on cars, repair electrical appliances and design blue prints that would make Frank Lloyd Wright proud.
My oldest brother inherited Pop’s knack for the automobile. At an early age he was able to transform a 1978 Trans Am into a show car complete with a custom paint job and racing engine. Later, he restored a vintage 1972 Corvette just for the fun of it.
I couldn’t even put a toy model together when I was a kid without pondering why I had 13 pieces left over or why Mom was so angry about the glue matted in the carpet.
My other brother became a carpenter by osmosis. He pretty much built his own outdoor kitchen and passed Industrial Arts class in high school with an A by designing a lavish dog house for his labrador.
I was in that class with him. My project was a paper towel holder that wouldn’t hold paper, much less anything else. I think my mother used it for a paper weight in the guest bedroom (otherwise known as the junk closet). It was only a dryer chord for Pete’s sake. Seriously, there is no way I could fail at this project. It’s a five-minute job right?
As an electrician, I’m a pretty good columnist.
You can see where I’m headed with this. After sitting there with a huge question mark floating over my head, I picked up the phone.
“Dad, I need your help,” I said.
He asked, “Ah, what movie are you thinking about?”
“Nah, Pop, it’s not about a movie,” I replied.
“Oh no ... don’t tell me you are trying to work on something,” he said with a sarcastic chuckle. “Pat, your son is trying to fix something again. We better call 911 and tell them to get ready.”
My father even laughs with a Cajun accent, so you can imagine the humiliation I suffered ... in English and French.
He then reminded me about the time some years back that I turned my washing machine on and water started dripping from the ceiling of my carport outside. True story.
Now really ... was that called for? My own father. The man who taught me how to catch a baseball, who proudly stood and clapped when I graduated from college; who wept when I held my son for the first time becoming a father.
This man, whom I hold in high regard ... suddenly became “Shecky” Trahan.
So after taking photos with my iPhone and emailing them over, my father was able to guide me through the process of changing out the power chord. My clothes are toasty fresh once again and I didn’t burn the house down.
After Shecky and I made it through that process, I had time to wonder about my own sons and what valuable DNA I’m passing along to them. I don’t really possess any “manly” skills as you may have guessed. I didn’t accrue the ability to create with my hands.
All of my skills have to do with my brain. Is there something tangible my sons can learn from me?
What will be my legacy?
Not even two hours later, I received a call from my oldest boy. He’s 17 and about to graduate from high school. As if he determined that I needed to know what genes he garnered, he asked, “Pop ... do you think LSU will jump Oklahoma in the AP poll by virtue of their road wins over Oregon, Mississippi State and West Virginia? Sure, my Sooners beat a top 5 team on the road too, but maybe LSU deserves to be No. 1 right now.”
It hit me like Lawrence Taylor on weak side blitz. My legacy is not tangible ... it doesn’t have to be. As my father willed me his love for movies and his vast knowledge of Hollywood trivia ... I have instilled my passion for sports and all that implies in my own offspring.
Maybe William Shakespeare was right when he said, “It is a wise father that knows his own child.”
Just as my father knew to call 911 when I started working on the dryer, I know to have my NFL Encyclopedia handy for a phone call from Will.
My son just applied to two schools for college — Louisiana Tech (my alma mater) and LSU (my favorite team). He wants to eventually attend law school, but his second choice for a career is to be a sports broadcaster.
Who would have thought that the conversations we had all these years concerning zone coverage and the intricacies of the NFL collective bargaining agreement would one day pay off.
Maybe I don’t need to know how to build a house to impress my sons.
Little do they know ... if I tried to build a house, they would really need to call 911.
Brian Trahan is Executive Editor of GateHouse Media Louisiana. E-mail him at swdailyeditor@gmail.com.
Ruth Renkel once said, “Sometimes the poorest man leaves his children the richest inheritance.” I can only assume that Ruth was talking about my pop.
The trouble is ... pop didn’t leave me his handyman skill set. Oh, I can write with the best of scribes and I can recite how many hits Pete Rose had in 1975 for the Big Red Machine. I can even tell you what actor starred in the supporting role opposite Clint Eastwood in the western, “The Good, The Bad and The Ugly.”
Dad gum father of mine, you failed to pass along your Bob Villa-like knowledge around the house. That could have come in handy the other day when I was trying to fix my dryer.
By the way, the answer to the Eastwood question is Eli Wallach and Lee Van Cleef.
The answer to changing out the electrical chord on my dryer is ... I haven’t the slightest idea!
My father was a carpenter by trade. The man could build a house from the ground up. He also taught himself to work on cars, repair electrical appliances and design blue prints that would make Frank Lloyd Wright proud.
My oldest brother inherited Pop’s knack for the automobile. At an early age he was able to transform a 1978 Trans Am into a show car complete with a custom paint job and racing engine. Later, he restored a vintage 1972 Corvette just for the fun of it.
I couldn’t even put a toy model together when I was a kid without pondering why I had 13 pieces left over or why Mom was so angry about the glue matted in the carpet.
My other brother became a carpenter by osmosis. He pretty much built his own outdoor kitchen and passed Industrial Arts class in high school with an A by designing a lavish dog house for his labrador.
I was in that class with him. My project was a paper towel holder that wouldn’t hold paper, much less anything else. I think my mother used it for a paper weight in the guest bedroom (otherwise known as the junk closet). It was only a dryer chord for Pete’s sake. Seriously, there is no way I could fail at this project. It’s a five-minute job right?
As an electrician, I’m a pretty good columnist.
You can see where I’m headed with this. After sitting there with a huge question mark floating over my head, I picked up the phone.
“Dad, I need your help,” I said.
He asked, “Ah, what movie are you thinking about?”
“Nah, Pop, it’s not about a movie,” I replied.
“Oh no ... don’t tell me you are trying to work on something,” he said with a sarcastic chuckle. “Pat, your son is trying to fix something again. We better call 911 and tell them to get ready.”
My father even laughs with a Cajun accent, so you can imagine the humiliation I suffered ... in English and French.
He then reminded me about the time some years back that I turned my washing machine on and water started dripping from the ceiling of my carport outside. True story.
Now really ... was that called for? My own father. The man who taught me how to catch a baseball, who proudly stood and clapped when I graduated from college; who wept when I held my son for the first time becoming a father.
This man, whom I hold in high regard ... suddenly became “Shecky” Trahan.
So after taking photos with my iPhone and emailing them over, my father was able to guide me through the process of changing out the power chord. My clothes are toasty fresh once again and I didn’t burn the house down.
After Shecky and I made it through that process, I had time to wonder about my own sons and what valuable DNA I’m passing along to them. I don’t really possess any “manly” skills as you may have guessed. I didn’t accrue the ability to create with my hands.
All of my skills have to do with my brain. Is there something tangible my sons can learn from me?
What will be my legacy?
Not even two hours later, I received a call from my oldest boy. He’s 17 and about to graduate from high school. As if he determined that I needed to know what genes he garnered, he asked, “Pop ... do you think LSU will jump Oklahoma in the AP poll by virtue of their road wins over Oregon, Mississippi State and West Virginia? Sure, my Sooners beat a top 5 team on the road too, but maybe LSU deserves to be No. 1 right now.”
It hit me like Lawrence Taylor on weak side blitz. My legacy is not tangible ... it doesn’t have to be. As my father willed me his love for movies and his vast knowledge of Hollywood trivia ... I have instilled my passion for sports and all that implies in my own offspring.
Maybe William Shakespeare was right when he said, “It is a wise father that knows his own child.”
Just as my father knew to call 911 when I started working on the dryer, I know to have my NFL Encyclopedia handy for a phone call from Will.
My son just applied to two schools for college — Louisiana Tech (my alma mater) and LSU (my favorite team). He wants to eventually attend law school, but his second choice for a career is to be a sports broadcaster.
Who would have thought that the conversations we had all these years concerning zone coverage and the intricacies of the NFL collective bargaining agreement would one day pay off.
Maybe I don’t need to know how to build a house to impress my sons.
Little do they know ... if I tried to build a house, they would really need to call 911.
Brian Trahan is Executive Editor of GateHouse Media Louisiana. E-mail him at swdailyeditor@gmail.com.
