My Kind of a Guy

I live in a Midwestern com-
munity that revers handy-
men —guys who can work
with their hands like their

fathers before them. I live
in a neighborhood with really
handy guys. They love home
projects. I went to a party

in the neighborhood last
evening. The new owners
wanted to show the neigh-
bors all the things they have

done to upgrade the house
making it into a stylish,
beach cottage appropriate
to where we live. The handy

guys attending the party
gathered on the upper, back
deck to talk. They were in-
spired by the handiwork of

the new owner. They regal-
ed each other with tales of
measuring, cutting, sand-
ing and whatever else it

is that handy guys do.
Another neighbor stood in
the kitchen telling me that
he had had a water leak

which required sanding
and refinishing the entire
main level wood floor.
He had the work done.

He then told me that there
was a significant amount of
painting that needed to be
done to the walls, also. Every-

day he sat in a chair and said
to himself, “Get up and get
the paintbrush and paint and
do the job.” Day after day.

And then in a tone of com-
plete resolve he said that he
called a house painter, paid
him the $850 and got the

job done. “I’m really far be-
hind in my reading,” he
said. Finally, my kind of
a guy.

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