Faucets and Family

Sometimes it's hard to see how strong family ties are until three generations sit around a disassembled bathroom sink for twelve hours.

My dad and I are horribly similar in personality, as my mom frequently points out in frustration, and my grandmother is just another in the set.

My dad promised her he'd replace the sink hardware in the bathroom after we got back from our trip to New York City. He began attacking the thing with several wrenches and a pair of pliers at about 9:30 in the morning.

At 9:30 that night, he was still wedged under the sink, cussing the pipes and nuts and bolts while Grandma stood unhelpfully in his way, brimming with concern and guilt. I stood by and handed him wrenches.

My dad is a pretty smart guy. Straight A's throughout his Master's Degree, Teacher of the Year, plaques from the Air Force abound, etc. He is not, however, mechanically inclined and he is definitely not a plumber. But he is a good son and a determined individual and refused to give up on the sink.

My very, very cheap grandfather even told him that it was okay, to give up, he'd pay for a plumber. Dad had just emerged from the sink, his hands raw and covered in grease and filth and WD-40. His sides were almost completely absent of skin from squeezing into the cabinet. He'd just driven nine hours to New York City, spent three days navigating the streets in sweltering heat, and drove nine more hours; he was exhausted. The sink was still not installed. We were due back home at least six hours ago and Mom kept calling and telling Dad to give up. Grandma was on the verge of tears because she felt so guilty about putting her son through this.

But still, he would not quit. He started a job, and he was darn sure going to finish it. I didn't know whether to consider this stupid stubbornness, a kind of unnecessary plumbing martyrdom, or an admirable display of will and determination. All I knew for sure is that I longed to go home but a drain stopper and a hot water valve stood solidly in my way, and Dad was not going to quit.

Now, Grandma definitely considered this stupid stubbornness, but I know she's exactly where her son got it from. Just the in the preceding days, the woman had followed us all over the streets of New York City in ninety degree heat for miles and miles. Every time we turned around to check on her, she'd insist that she was just fine and kept plugging along. She's painted her entire house solo in recent years, and takes care of my whiny, self-centered, sickly, helpless, and thankless grandfather all by herself. Her 75th birthday is next week.

My dad is his mother's son and I'm my father's daughter. Even if they're determined to the point of stupidity sometimes, I can't help but hope I share in some of their strength. I have their eyes, their sense of humor, and their love of travel. I hope that, like Dad, I would also finish the sink.