I Never Got My Invitation to Man School
On learning how to become a "proper" man
I’m stood, drill in hand, in front of what I think is a plasterboard wall ready to risk my life for a new set of shelves. I don’t think there are any wires behind there. At least I hope there aren’t any wires behind there. How do all of the other men know how to do this?
I knew I shouldn’t have thrown that old post out. My invitation to man school must have been in there. Anyway, the drills going in… hang on, what about the pipes?!?
I knew I should have watched that YouTube video to the end.
Luckily I’ve not been found out for skipping man school yet. We managed to sell the last house quickly enough that my DIY didn’t fall apart and arouse suspicion. My wife even called me “handy” at one point. It must be working.
Sometimes people ask me computer advice. This is lucky because I can use my computer science degree to confidently say “could you switch it off and on again?”. While they are doing that I can Google the real answer.
Still - with every YouTube video I watch I start getting back some to the education I missed. After all, the guy with 40 videos on how to replace different plumbing fixtures must have aced man school. If I can just follow what he does then I’ll be fine. But then, it does seem quite complicated. Maybe buying some more tools will make up for it.
It’s two weeks later now and we’ve bought a new bookcase. I’ve confidently declared that I can varnish it to match the wooden arms on our sofa. Now I am in B&Q wondering why they have so much “Yacht Varnish”. The last time I checked, Manchester is landlocked. Maybe there was a boating module I missed. Tying a knot seems like another skill I don’t have.
Finally the varnish is dried and it’s not quite the colour on the tin. “Don’t worry, you don’t want it all too matchy-matchy” I say to my wife. She seems to believe it for now.
Luckily she’s more organised than me. She won’t have thrown her letter away, so when the baby comes in a few months she’ll know what to do.
The doctors and nurses are amazing. They guide us through everything, calming every fear and walking us through the whole process. They were even kind enough to make some tea and toast after the birth. Then after some brief chit chat they abandoned us forever.
Maybe the other Dads can help me. I’ll message my neo-natal group and organise a meetup. The only problem is that nobody wants to come. They are struggling with sleep, the baby won’t settle, feeding is a nightmare. It’s starting to dawn on me. Perhaps there is no man school. Perhaps we’re all struggling and making it up as we go along.
Finally, I have to tell my wife. I haven’t been this nervous to tell her anything. What she says afterwards surprises me.
“I know, sweetie”
All these years of struggling - and it turns out none of us knew what we were doing.
But here’s the thing - the struggle gets less every day. I can make the baby settle, then he can smile. Next I can make him howl with laughter. On top of that I know what yacht varnish is and where electricians run the cables. I can talk to a mortgage advisor and hold my own.
It turns out that when my son looks to me, he sees a confident father who knows how to look after him. I just need to be one lesson ahead of him and to keep adapting. When my Mum rings to ask me about her computer problem, she sees the same confidence. Just like when I ask her about my garden.
Maybe adulthood is realising nobody knows all of the answers. We just try to stay one lesson ahead of the people who need us.