Daddy’s Little Helper

Like most men, I have been an automobile freak since I was a small child. Now that I’m a big child, I own a sports car that I’m in the process of restoring.

Two short summers ago, I tackled an engine rebuild with the assistance of my daughter Lisa, who was three at the time. I’m sure most of you have struggled with a major task of this scope, but how many have tried to do so while accompanied by a three-year-old? Like most children her age, she wants to help so-o-o-o badly that the only way you are going to get ANYTHING done is to let her help you. This creates a situation which I can only compare to being interrogated by Mr. Rogers. I tried to let her help by holding tools or bolts. This didn’t work. Since her attention span was that of a three-year old (no kidding), she got very quickly bored with the holding part and moved on to another activity. Not only did I have to hunt HER down, but then I had to hunt down whatever it was that she was holding, because Lisa and the tool were never in the same place. She was on her swing and the screwdriver was in the dog’s water dish behind the garage. Other times she would just want to watch, grilling me like a KGB agent. A typical conversation sounded like this: “Whatcha doing, Daddy?” “Fixing the car.” “Why are you fixing the car?” “Because it doesn’t work.” “Why doesn’t it work?” “Because it’s broken.” “Why is it broken?” “I DON’T KNOW!” “Why don’t you know?” “Because I haven’t figured it out yet!” “Why

haven’t you figured it out yet?” “BECAUSE I’M ANSWERING YOUR QUESTIONS!!” “Whv are you answering mv questions?” “AAAAAAAAAAARGH…”

“Why are you saying ‘aaaaaaaaaaargh’?”

She wanted to bring my tools to me and I let her. This turned into a game. I would lie underneath the car and she would line up the tools behind my back so that when I moved, a screwdriver, wrench, or whatever, jabbed me in the ribs. This game was called “Listen to Daddy make funny noises”.

There was the time she hit my toe with a six-pound wrench, causing me to sit up, hitting my forehead against the under side of the car. The resulting pain caused me to jerk my head back and slam it into the garage floor, then up into the car again, then back to the floor, and so on until I decided to get out from under the car.

“LISA!!!!!!!” “But Daddy,” she said, giving me that wounded puppy look, “there was an ant on your foot.” Sheepishly (I just can’t yell at a crying female) I explained to her not to do that anymore and walked into the house for an aspirin.

Being a glutton for punishment, I decided that she couldn’t do much damage with an old rawhide mallet (the previous episode muddled my reasoning), so I let her hold that and crawled back under the car. After a few minutes, I heard a loud clanging noise and saw the car start to shake. I looked over and saw Lisa lying next to me pounding the jackstand with the mallet – I haven’t moved that fast in years.

This year, Lisa, now five, is a tremendous help with my car. Since all the mechanical work is finished,she helps me with the washing and waxing. I learned to pick a hot day, because a hose-wielding five-year-old is the surest way to get drenched!

She is extremely thorough, taking half an hour with a sponge to wash one section of fender while I wash the rest of the car, apply a coat of wax, and eat lunch. David, her three year-old brother takes care of the wheels because that’s about as high as he can reach.

Most of the time, I have to wash the car again, but watching them help me is worth all the extra work. I certainly admire their enthusiasm and meticulousness.

I am now in the process of restoring another MG, just in time to be assaulted by another three-year-old full of questions.To most people, I probably seem like a glutton for punishment. But there are some things that make up for the inconveniences that make a two hour job stretch into an entire weekend. There’s the pride that the kids show because they helped Daddy with his car.

By Dan Zebarah, Lincoln Park, MI