Day 62: Fixing Broken Things

Rich doesn't know a thing about cars. It's true and we both know it. But he's a guy and he thinks all guys are supposed to know about cars. This is how he ended up belly-up under the truck, covered in snow and tapping with a spatula at whatever pipes he could reach.

Our truck is broken down. Again. Two days after returning from the mechanic, I am sitting in a snowbank with an engine that won't turn over. It just winds and grinds, like Micky when he's not getting enough attention. I call Rich because it's his truck and it's he who insists that I drive his truck when there's even a dusting. Somehow this has got to be his fault. He comes to get me and I wait in the warm Toyota while Rich, armed with his infamous spatula is puttering around trying to knock something in place. He doesn't have a clue. I say this with love, but it's true. And somewhere mixed in my own stereotypes I can feel myself getting angry at him because he can't fix the truck with his bare hands.

Maybe it's because the other men in my life- my father, my brothers always found a way to figure out what was wrong with whatever beater I was driving and they always fixed it. Maybe it's because I actually believe that men are supposed to know how to fix cars. That you're less of a man if you can't. I practically say as much outloud, in my teasing voice that means I'm kinda serious. I say, "I can't believe we're gonna pay a man $200 dollars to clean spark plugs with a handerchief. How do you not know this stuff?"

But then he turns to me and says, "Remember honey, my dad died when I was still a kid!" His voice rising slightly, "I didn't have anyone to teach me these things." And I feel like a liver for making fun of his inabilities.

I wonder, why do we expect our partners to be filled with knowledge and expertise on things we ourselves know nothing about. Perhaps it's because together we are one whole unit. And I want our unit to be the best. But Love is not about what you know or don't know. Love is not about who can repair an engine or roast a turkey. Love is about looking at this other creature, this crazy man who is rolling in dirty snow and knocking his silly spatula against anything that will make noise. Love is looking at him and laughing out loud because he is this incredible creature who may not have a clue about cars, but who wants so badly to be the one who fixes my broken pieces.

And so I wipe the snow off his face and kiss him and tell him that he's my favorite. That I love him. And I do. Because a car is just a car, even when it's a truck. And there will always be someone to fix Spark Plugs. I'm just thankful I married the man who cares enough to jump start this old heart of mine. Even in the snow.