'Yes Dear,' Isn't Just Polite, It's Policy

By Doug Kaufman

Occasionally – and, admittedly, it’s a rarity when it happens – I have a moment of clarity when I suddenly realize the impact and truth of one of Forrest Gump’s most famous lines of dialogue: “I am not a smart man…”

Of course, to the Better Half, this comes as no great surprise. I’m regularly doing things that to her are clear signs that I shouldn’t be left alone with sharp objects or a pack of matches.

Most of my ineptitude is manifested in my dealings with our children. When I tell them to do something, make plans for something or expect something from them, it’s usually wrong.   “What time should I be home, Dad?” the Oldest will ask and I’ll invariably say the wrong thing and start World War XXIV in our household.

“Can we sell (insert beverage, toy or service here) in the front yard?” the Middle Child will ask. Recognizing that I’ll be the one to clean up the remnants of this enterprise when it’s abandoned 10 minutes later, I prefer to say no – but when the crying starts and the recognition that I’m ruining their childhood sets in, I relent, only to be reminded 10 minutes later that my first instinct was correct.

So now I just tell them all, no matter the question, go ask your mother. No matter the subject, go ask your mother. Whatever the lesson, listen to your mother.

The problem, you see, is that I rarely follow my own advice.

Almost two years ago, she picked out a very nice patio dining table and chair set.   The glass-topped table and six chairs fit our deck perfectly, were extremely comfortable and looked great. To top it off, I picked out a large patio umbrella from a discount store. To me, it was perfect – the right size, the right color and the right price – cheap. She expressed doubts about its strength, but I insisted it was the right thing to do.

We brought it home, put it on the deck in the table and both agreed it complemented the surroundings nicely. Point for me, I thought. We had lunch on our new patio furniture, and then rushed off to an afternoon meeting.

During the meeting, I noticed that the trees were dancing wildly, paper was blowing around the parking lot and birds were hanging still in the air. As I made those observations, I had one other realization; before we left, one of us had the responsibility of closing the new umbrella. One of us might have forgotten to do that.

Returning with my secret held tight, but hoping against hope, I was soon aware that someone was in a great deal of trouble. The umbrella that had graced our home only hours before now lay crippled in the backyard, one its large wooden ribs cracked like a crab leg.

Luckily, it was, after all, a cheap umbrella and The Better Half suggested we simply throw it away. I had “a better plan,” and casually uttered those four words that have launched a thousand nightmares: “I can fix it.”

You sense where this is going, but it’s worse than that.

I did fix the umbrella – after a fashion – with zip ties and duct tape and it worked – almost – for the rest of the year. It looked a little droopy and wobbled strangely in the breeze, but it mostly kept the sun off. “Throw it away,” she urged.

This year when I decided to “fix it” even more, she again told me to pitch it. Insisting I knew what I was doing, I set forth on my mission.

Ah, hubris. I was working with a replacement wooden rib, screws, hand tools and a power drill and things were going fabulously. But as I finished, I somehow dropped the screwdriver in my hand. It was all over in a millisecond.

The tool’s tip hit the tempered glass top like a missile and what had been an expanse of gleaming glass was instantly a pile of shimmering puzzle pieces on the deck.

It was at that moment – with the sun glittering on the glass and my feet bleeding from multiple cuts I would never report – that Forrest’s motto truly became my own. I am not a smart man – and from now on, I’ll do what The Better Half tells me to do…that is, if she ever talks to me again.

Doug Kaufman’s wife, Renee, lives with three OTHER children in Tallmadge: Ally (15), Maria (10) and Ryan (8), who usually listen better.