I spent this afternoon working on my dad’s honey-do list, which I guess makes me “honey” for the day. Anyway, he’s been asking me to fix the dishwasher for weeks. The front’s coming off, a spring is broken. “WHAT ARE WE GOING TO DO?” he said in desperation last night. So this afternoon I brought my lesbian toolbox inside and went to work. But before I could even take the damn dishwasher apart, I had to make two trips to Lowe’s in order to buy the appropriate screwdriver for the job. (The dishwasher is put together with those funny star-shaped screws, and it took two trips because they APPARENTLY make the screws in different sizes, and I guessed wrong the first time.)

It took a total of three hours, but I eventually got the dishwasher all fixed up–took the front off and put it back together with extra screws and some heavy-duty tape (since some of the plastic had broken) and fixed a spring that had popped off. Plus Dad and I vacuumed underneath. Yuck, what a mess. I’m guessing that hadn’t been done since sometime during the Reagan Administration.

Taking advantage of the fact that I was in a fix-it mood, Dad led me from the kitchen to his side of bathroom. “My sink is leaking,” he said, “but it’s just the cold water.” So off I went to Lowe’s again in order to buy a new rubber o-ring, which I assumed would be the answer to the problem based on where the leak was coming from. However, that didn’t work, so I’m going to go BACK TO LOWE’S either later tonight or tomorrow to TRY, TRY AGAIN.

I’ll let you know how it goes.

This evening I’ve been babysitting for some friends. You heard that right–me, babysitting!–taking care of two boys. One’s eleven and one’s nine. Honestly, it’s been a fantastic time. First we ate pizza and chicken wings, then we played Oregon Trail (a card came) and I died, then we watched The Sandlot. What a great movie. You’re killing me, Smalls. / You play ball like a girl! / Squints was pervin’ a dish. / For-Ev-Er. This was seriously a walk down memory lane. Not only did I used to play baseball like the boys in the movie (I was about as good as Smalls, which is not that good), but I also got a black eye from a ball like Smalls does in the film.

It really was the perfect way to spend an evening. Well, except for the fact that the boys fast-forwarded through the scene where Smalls and his friends knock the baseball with Babe Ruth’s autograph on it over the fence and into the territory of The Beast, the local dog they’re all afraid of. I don’t know–I guess it made them uncomfortable.

After the movie, the boys and I went through their nighttime routine. First, they brushed their teeth.

“Are you going to wash your faces?” I asked.

“Why would we do that?” they replied.

“Because you got pizza sauce all over them earlier,” I said.

They paused then said, “That’s what napkins are for!”

Next the boys said their prayers, which were absolutely adorable to listen to. They prayed for every single member of their family. “And God bless Mother and Father, and God bless older sister, and God bless me and brother, and God bless Grandma. Amen.” Then the older one turned to me and said, “Just to clarify, Grandma died five years ago.” Talk about priceless. After that, we sang three songs, the last of which was America the Beautiful. Not a single one of us was on key. Then the boys crawled into their respective beds. Then I let their little dog outside, and now the dog and I are piled up on the couch waiting for Mom and Dad to return.

This afternoon while I was repairing the dishwasher, my dad said, “Marcus, your Grandpa Dee would have been so proud of you.” (Grandpa Dee was my dad’s dad, and he was super handy.) Then he added, “I never did anything that he was proud of.” Wow. Even if this wasn’t a literal statement, it certainly was a heart-wrenching one. My grandpa was a good man, but I remember his coming in behind my dad to re-do things my dad had done, and that sucks for any child, that feeling of I’m not good enough.

I know what that feeling is like. My dad’s come in behind to re-do my work plenty of times over the years. However, now that we’re both older, that nonsense has stopped. For one thing, Dad can’t do as much for himself, so he kind of has to accept whatever help he can get. Plus, I can speak up for myself. This afternoon while Dad was peaking over my shoulder, I said, “Shoo. Get out of the kitchen.”

I know it’s not always comfortable to talk about, the way our grandparents and parents weren’t perfect, the way all of us–myself included–aren’t perfect. We all have parts of our lives we’d like to fast-forward through, especially those times we’ve prioritized The Project over The Person. But having just spent an evening with two precious children, I think it’s important to talk about this, the fact that all of us are worthy of love and approval and few of us ever stop wanting these things from our parents. I don’t mean this as an indictment of my ancestors, since I believe everyone is doing the best they can with what they’ve been given. Plus, I know from personal experience that if you’re hard on others, that means you’re even harder on yourself. So all the more reason to work on yourself and give love and approval to yourself, since what you give to yourself, you can’t help but give to others.

[Tonight’s blog is number 600 (in a row). Much love and appreciation to anyone who’s read anywhere from one to all of them. This continues to be a truly enlightening, powerful, and healing journey, and I’m most grateful for those of you who allow me to travel it in such a public way. Here’s to you.]