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I'm not very handy as it relates to fixing things. My older brother is different in that respect. He's quite capable of doing pretty much any plumbing and electrical work because he actually took the time to learn stuff from our dad when we were growing up. I didn't like learning from Dad. It certainly wasn't any fun. "Hold this. No, not like that! Like this! Gimme that thing! What the hell's the matter with you?!"

You need to understand that it was precisely that sort of behavior from my dad that caused me to become passive-aggressive at a very early age. To survive mentally, I quickly learned to assume the rotten kid helper role. I'd point the flashlight at the back of Pop's head while he was underneath the sink skinning his knuckles on a leaky trap in the pitch dark. Then, after he'd cuss and clank his head on a pipe while extricating himself from underneath the cabinet to give me the what for, I'd scald his left retina with the beam. Zzzzap! Whoops, my bad. Hope you don't need to drive the car anytime soon.

For goodness sake, with all that yelling and negativity going on, it's no wonder I still can't change a light bulb without hearing a symphony of pessimistic self-talk in my head. I thought I'd give you a glimpse into my past because to this day - at 43 years of age - I'm still next to worthless when it comes to home improvement.

This year for Christmas, our hot water heater gave up the ghost. I suppose it was the equivalent of Santa leaving me a lump of coal in my stocking. Probably payback for being an attentive smart aleck as a kid. Anyway, I found myself once again at the mercy of my dad's infinite "how-to" wisdom and gave him a call for help. I thought about calling a friend or brother-in-law first, but this sort of job required a helper with a sense of forced obligation that only a direct bloodline relative can provide. The first words out of his mouth were, "Hell, all you need to do is sweat a coupla joints and wire in your 220. You've sweated pipes before, ain'tcha?" Speaking of sweat, I felt some begin to pop out on my forehead and I was 12 years old all over again as I feebly replied, "Uh...well...no, not exactly. The last time our water heater blew up, Brad Guggisberg -- you remember Brad -- anyway, he came over and helped me. He's like me, except he listened to his dad growing up. Heh-heh."

Anyway, Dad eventually showed up at the house later that day with his propane torch, flux, roll of solder and pipe cutter. He had to ask me the questions he'd been dying to ask since he left his place in Golden Valley an hour earlier: "You mean to tell me you still ain't learned nuttin' after 30 years? You know what a plumber gets an hour? Huh? Them bums'll charge you an hour's labor just for showing up! Your trouble is, you'd rather go fishing than learn how to be handy. Rubbing copper pipes with a frozen crappie ain't gonna give you hot water, son."

I didn't have the heart to tell him that, after all these years, I still didn't give a rat's patootie about flux and solder and sweating pipes. Besides, I know some plumbers and not all of them are bums, either. And to top it all off, for years now I've made some pretty respectable dough taking folks fishing. Instead, for his sake, I hung my head in a close approximation of shame and at the same time smiled and wondered where I put that new super-bright, LED flashlight of mine.

Dan Brown's weekly outdoor column is brought to you by Frankie's Bait and Marine, in Chisago City, and St. Croix Outdoors, in St. Croix Falls, Wis.

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