Another Home Project

With Dad in Mind

My wife, a nurse, was working the evening shift and I stood at home in front of the bathroom mirror. I caught a whiff of a strong, almost sickly-sweet smell and turned, but it was gone as quickly as it came. I didn’t think much of it until an hour later when my oldest brother called to say Dad had died at the nursing home. As memories of him and my childhood rushed in, I remembered he always wore a sweet aftershave—Old Spice, I think.

Years later, in 2014, my wife and I were living in a 3,500-square-foot house with our two dogs. We had four bedrooms, four bathrooms, seven TVs, and an almost 4,000-dollar monthly mortgage. After months of talking about retirement, we knew it was time to downsize. The thought of moving again filled us with dread. In twenty-eight years together, we had already moved at least ten times, and packing everything up once more sent a shiver down my spine. Still, the decision was made.

Real estate always comes down to location, and we wondered how we could find something that kept my fifteen-minute commute while improving my wife’s forty-minute drive. Against the odds, our agent found a place: a house about half the size but still fifteen minutes from my work and twenty minutes from hers. Best of all, the mortgage would be about one-third of what we were paying. Retirement suddenly seemed doable.

The good news was the seller was motivated. The bad news was the house had been a rental and needed work. But we watched plenty of HGTV. We were practically EXPERTS. How hard could it be? Redo the countertops. Gut both bathrooms. Paint everything inside and out. And while we were at it, tackle the backyard, which currently featured ten years of weeds.

The new house presented an issue of TV location for NFL football, but I had the answer. We’d build an entertainment wall that could hold the biggest TV we had ever owned. We’d also design it to hold our favorite artwork that we had collected over the years. I’m lucky my wife is a big football fan, so I didn’t need to play the ‘artwork’ card on the added cost to the renovation.

After weeks of struggling with a framer, electrician, drywall installer, painter, and tile guy, “The Wall” was finally finished. It turned out better than I hoped. Dad would have approved.

There was only one small job left. I needed to add a couple of shelves for the DirecTV box and the Blu-ray player. Thirty minutes, tops.

You can file that estimate under “Famous Last Words.”

The shelves arrived in a box from China with instructions promising “simple installation.” The included hardware might have worked if the shelves were being mounted to concrete—or if I had hit a stud in the wall. Unfortunately, neither was true.

After two frustrating hours of pounding plastic anchors into drywall and trying every trick Dad had ever taught me—like stuffing toothpicks into the holes to tighten them up—I had shelves attached to the wall that couldn’t safely support anything heavier than four ounces.

It was time for a Home Depot run.

At the store, a helpful employee pointed me toward what I needed: toggle bolts, the kind that spring open behind the drywall and hold tight. The instructions said I’d also need a 5/8-inch drill bit, which of course I didn’t own. Eighteen dollars later I had one.

Back home, the holes drilled easily. Installing the toggles was another matter.

If you’ve ever used toggle bolts, you know they have a special talent for falling into the wall before the spring opens. Over and over I tightened the bolt only to have the toggle drop back through the hole. One disappeared completely behind the wall.

Four hours into my thirty-minute project, sweat was dripping off my glasses, and both dogs had retreated to the bedroom closet to escape the yelling. And I was yelling. Mostly the same expletives Dad used. I think I may have used a couple of them in combinations even he never thought up.

The frustration grew far beyond ‘boiling’ and finally I yelled out loud, “Dad, give me a hand here!” Within two minutes, everything fell into place. All three bolts ‘toggled’ and the shelves were tightened into place never to move again.

All that remained was reconnecting a dozen wires to the satellite box and DVD player. Fortunately, Dad had also taught me to label every connection before unplugging anything, so that part went smoothly.

When I stepped back, the shelves looked exactly as I had imagined. I stood there for a moment, admiring the finished wall.

Then I said quietly, “Thanks, Dad.”

And I’m pretty sure he heard me.