There's a Hole in the Table

When I was a little girl, I would often hear “Pacer, come here. QUICK. I need your help.” My Dad, Mr. Larry “Why pay a repair man when you can fix it yourself?” Mirous, much to the chagrin of my mother (who eventually did call the repair man to fix the off-centered ceiling fan) was seemingly always working on a home “improvement” project of some sort. Sometimes when the tools started flying even the dog couldn’t be found, possibly cowering somewhere in a corner. While cuss words were exclaimed (words, as kids, we thought no adult knew), we understood one of Dad’s missions was not going as planned.

Whenever my Dad needed an extra hand to lift something back into place, hold a screw in position, or simply to watch what happened as he flipped a switch in the other room, never having the son he always wanted, he settled for second best—his Staceypacer—known to the rest of the world as his oldest daughter “Stacey”. I never quite knew what I was getting myself into and I can’t say that over the years I was all that helpful (especially the teenage years when talking on the phone with your girlfriends was way cooler than helping your Dad figure out why the toilet wouldn’t flush), but alas my kids know who to hand the plunger to when the pots spilling over with too much poopie-paper.

These days my Dad is the first person I call when I need help figuring out the joys of being a homeowner. Here is a list of some of the things my Dad has helped us with:

~~Putting in a garage door opener (Dad did you ever get that receipt I sent you for the replacement garage door?)

~~Putting the water line in for the refrigerator’s ice maker—which flows ranging from slow to super-slow

~~Hanging shelves in my son’s room which really can support the weight of a 40 pound boy—well almost, you can only see the head wound if you look really hard (just kidding Dad)

~~Hanging a picture on the wall and trusting me to calculate the distance—soon to find we were off about 2 feet—on each side.

~~Hanging window treatments while at the same time drilling a hole in the kitchen table.

And as I lightly wipe over the hole in the kitchen table on a daily basis, more than once, I think to myself I am so glad it is there and he is still here. I wouldn’t want it any other way.

I love you Daddy.