RIVER CITY JOURNAL: A LITTLE HANDYMAN JOB TO DO? QUICK, GRAB A BIG HAMMER!

In your golden years, you should have learned a few things about odd jobs around the house. Like reading the instructions.

When it comes to being a handyman, put me in the bigger-the-hammer-the-quicker-the-job-goes category. Anyone in my family, especially my two sons, can give you example after example of the times I thought a bigger screwdriver or bigger saw or a bigger hammer would take care of any job.

For example, there is the "Day Pop Attacked the Wood Storm Window Frame" story that my sons love to tell at family gatherings.

It started when we bought a 1911 two-story home when we lived in Maryville, Mo. The house was renovated from top to bottom -- literally to the bottom, because the house was jacked up while a basement was dug under it. Among the last projects were a new roof, new gutters and new paint.

With all that work, the aluminum storm windows just didn't look right. And the metal storm windows made it difficult to wash the windows. There were a lot of windows in this house -- 17 to be exact, and most of them were large, as is customary in old houses.

Thanks to a Christmas gift from my wife of a table saw, I decided to make wood frames for the storm windows. My crafty plan included removing the glass from the old aluminum frames and fitting those huge panes into new wood frames that I would create with my very own hands -- with the help of my new table saw.

This project lasted for several weeks. It takes awhile to turn out a decent window frame when you have little skill in measuring, cutting, squaring, clamping or gluing. Not to mention zero tolerance in the patience department.

Believe it or not, however, I managed to turn out some decent wood frames for the new storm windows, despite the fact that none of the windows was square. Every frame had to be custom fitted to each odd-shaped opening.

After six or seven successful efforts, I came to the bathroom window that looked out onto the deck. This is the window that in my sons' stories has come to be known as "The Window That Fought Back."

Just as I had on all the other windows, I measured once and cut twice -- I know, that's backwards, but remember who the handyman was in this instance -- and carefully glued the frame and set it on the garage floor to dry.

The next day I put the frame up to the window for the final adjustments, which included planing the edges to get the required custom fit.

But it didn't fit. It wasn't even close. It was off by several inches, not fractions of an inch. I couldn't believe it. I turned the frame this way and that to no avail.

Finally, in a fit of fury, I threw the frame from the deck to the driveway below. Then I grabbed my hammer and attacked the frame with a vengeance similar, I would think, to that of Moses when he crushed the stone tablets after seeing all that partying going on around the golden calf.

My sons watched with eyes that grew larger and larger. Soon there was nothing left but kindling.

No one spoke to me for a long time for fear I might explode again. Of course, as any explosive father can tell you, there is usually only one blast available on any given day.

All of this episode came to mind this week when younger son called from Texas to check in. I told him I had completed installing a hardwood floor in our 20-by-20-foot family room. He said he was impressed.

And, I said, I read all of the instructions.

Silence.

More than that, I said, I followed the instructions, and it worked.

More silence.

Then my wife and I heard a rapping noise on the other end of the line, the kind of noise a ballpoint pen makes when you knock it against the telephone. "Hello! Hello!" we heard younger son say. "I'm trying to reach the Sullivan residence. I think I have the wrong number. Hello! Hello!"

I still have a barbecue grill and a mulching lawn mower sitting in the garage waiting to be assembled. They will be put together in that order, grill first, and then the mower.

But I haven't decided yet if I will read the instructions for either of them. After nearly half a century of using the big-hammer system, I'm not sure I'm ready for total maturity.

I'm getting closer though.

~R. Joe Sullivan is the editor of the Southeast Missourian.