The Measure of a Man

                I remember that day very clearly.  It was a crisp Tuesday summer evening.  The day had been completely average, until my wife fatefully (and unwittingly) planted that cursed idea in my mind.  It was innocent enough at first; she didn’t mean me any harm, but in fact she was dooming me to a day of frustration and misery.

                “Honey, can you take the Toyota to the Jiffy Lube?  It needs an oil change.”

                See, there are certain pet peeves that I have that have been exacerbated since I became a housedad.  Number one on that list is people who waste my time.  Before I was a housedad, I used to hate people who’d take their sweet time getting their groceries onto the conveyer belt.  Seriously, it is no big secret what is going to happen when you get to the front of the line.  They are going to check you out, so get your food on the belt!  Also, it is not a secret what they are going to need from you after they scan your groceries, so is it too hard to ask that you have your money ready?  The post office is the same way.  Why is it that the five people in front of me always take ten minutes each to do their business, but it only takes me 30 seconds?  So you can imagine how this exponentially irritates me more now that I have my infant son’s delicate schedule to fit in these chores. 

                Going to the Jiffy Lube definitely fits into one of these pet peeve events for me.  I hate going to the mechanic, because not only does it take way too much time, but it is one of those places that is always trying to sell you something.  And since I’m not well-versed in car mechanics, I am never fully convinced I can trust them to tell me honestly what I need, and what is a luxury. 

                Giving my feelings about the Jiffy Lube and oil changes, my wife’s suggestion irritated me, not because she suggested it, but because I knew that it was time to get that done.  After thinking about how annoying it was going to be to take Josiah and wait for over an hour for a job that I knew only took 15 minutes to do, only to have some guy come at the end and tell me all the things that I “need” to have fixed in my car, I came up with a brilliant plan.  I was going to change the oil myself.

                Now, my own father was an incredible dad.  He taught me many valuable things such as sports, hygiene, manners, work ethic, and most importantly, how to be a Christian man.  However, one thing he did not teach me was how to be a handyman.  This includes car maintenance.  So when I decided that I was going to change the oil myself, really, what I decided was to teach myself how to change the oil. 

                The internet assured me this was going to be a simple task.  I believed it because, obviously, everything on the internet is true.  So I found my handy instructions and set off for the task.  The first order of business was to get the right tools of which I had none, a symptom of not having been exposed to this stuff.  So on a Saturday morning I went to the store and bought a nice car jack, a set of car stands, oil (for the record I already knew I needed that before I looked it up!), and a filter.  The internet and the nice lady at the AutoZone said the filter should just simply screw off and replace easily. 

                Once I got back from my first (notice the sequencing here) trip from the store, I managed to get the car jack up and the stands in place with no problems.  At this point, I was feeling pretty good about myself.  But then problems started to settle in.  The first stemmed from the oil pan plug.  I got under the car and tugged and tugged at that thing and it would not budge.  My trusty friend, the internet, had warned about screwing this on too tight after you were done, otherwise it might be difficult to get off again, yet another reason to hate the Jiffy Lube.  I tried an assortment of wrenches and tools to get that plug loose for about 30 minutes, when finally I just put my whole muscle into it, and off it came.  The joy I had when I first laid eyes on that Texas tea only lasted a few seconds when I quickly realized that I should have paid more attention in science class during the section that covered liquid conversions.  You may not know this, but 4 quarts is a lot of oil and my little bucket filled up pretty quickly.  So I simply sat and watched helplessly as the oil spilled over the top of my bucket and continued to pour out all over my garage floor. 

                Despite the frustration and mess I had just created, I decided that the stain the oil was sure to leave was a character mark for my garage and really no big deal because, according to the internet, the next part was the easy part.  So after cleaning up enough of the oil spill to get back under the car, I set off to replace the filter.  Once under the car the new part I had bought and the old one didn’t really seem to match.  In fact, the old part didn’t really seem like it was meant to be screwed with (I mean this both literally and figuratively).  So after giving it the old college try, I soon figured out that I must be missing something. 

                I went back to the AutoZone for a second time.  This time my friend told me to buy a filter wrench.  So I did and went home and tried that.  No luck.  So I went back to the store and third, and fourth, and fifth time.  Each time I tried a different tool with the same result.

                Now I don’t really swear much at all.  I’m not telling you this because I’m bragging about my pure tongue.  Trust me, it gets me in trouble in lots of other ways.  But I want you all to know that I just simply don’t have that much use for the vulgar words in the English language.  The rest of the language is plenty descriptive for me.  But I’m ashamed to admit that after the fourth trip and spending over three hours trying to get that filter off, I’m pretty sure I left my religion in that garage several times that morning.

                It was about this time that a thought came into my mind.  Why was this so important to me to do this myself?  In the course of one morning I had gone from ex-youth minister turned housedad to sweaty oiled-covered mechanic (and not a very good one) with a sailor’s mouth.  And to make matters worse, I was really, really ,really frustrated.  After some time had passed and I was able to reflect on my experience, I began to realize what had driven me to this point.

                See, during the course of the week my accomplishments had included cleaning the house, grocery shopping, cooking, and managing to keep the pets and the baby alive.  None of these accomplishments will be recorded in the annals of history, and none of them seem very “manly” to me.  Meanwhile, I had friends who had gotten new jobs, new promotions, and new challenges in their careers.  I decided that it was obvious that I needed a victory in my life, and one that reaffirmed me as a man. 

                Eventually I did get that filter off.  Turns out, the internet didn’t know what it was talking about (I know, shocking, isn’t it!  And just in case you also didn’t know, Santa’s not real either. . .) because I own a Toyota (which I told the people at the AutoZone, still not much help) and these foreign cars have a filter cap.  Once I figured that I was pulling on the wrong part, I managed to get it off with a simple wrench and replace it no problem.  Despite everything, I’m proud to say that now when a group of dudes are chatting about cars I can honestly pitch in when the conversation turns to how difficult maintenance can be on foreign cars.