I can't seem to get off of this particular journal entry. Part III:
"I started the car when I came out of the South Plains Mall and a hissing sound came from under the hood.
"'What's that?' L-- [my sister] asked.
"'I don't know, but whatever it is, it doesn't sound good,' I said. I revved the engine to see if that would stop it. It didn't. 'I'm gonna check under the hood.' I couldn't get it open. I guess Ford makes lousy hoods for Pinto station wagons. 'So much for that,' I said.
"'What are you gonna do?' L-- asked.
"'Leave, I guess.'
"We went and got gas, went to the bookstore, and went to Poco Taco to get something to eat. It was still hissing when I drove up in the driveway leading to our house. I'm taking Dad's care to work tonight. My care is also backfiring worse than ever. Tomorrow afternoon, Dad and I are going to work on both our cars. His is running like shit, too, although not quite as bad as mine. I hate working on cars."
MANHOOD REDO: I even hate writing about working on cars. In 1978, I knew enough to be able to do a tune up - replace points, plugs, etc. I could do more if I had to - remove a drive shaft, replace a fan belt, change a battery - but I never knew or did enough to feel competent, and was always surprised whenever anything I did actually worked. Even though I worked at U-Haul as a yard man for over a year after getting my B.A. degree in English studies, I've never considered myself mechanically adept. Dressed in my brown pants and shirt, I would drill and attach backmount hitches to cars for towing or run electrical wiring from the car to the trailer for lights and never have problems, but I never saw it as a challenge, never identified it as something I wanted to learn, and never felt it was a means of proving my manhood. They were just tasks I needed to do for the job.
The same thing when we moved into the our house three-and-a-half years ago. The previous owner had just built in the closet in our bedroom and it had no shelving of any kind, just bare walls. We bought a drill and the parts for a Closet Maid shelving system, and I started drilling holes, a process that mostly went okay, enough so that I managed to get everything installed and we could hang our clothes up. I admit that whenever we had someone over for the first time during the initial six months after moving in, I would take them on a tour and in the bedroom, open the closet doors and basically imply, Look what I did. There's another part of me that everytime I opens the doors expects it all to come crashing down.
Basically, when it comes to working with your hands, it seems to me there are three options related to masculinity: 1) you're confident you can work on just about anything related to home or various machines; 2) you have plenty of money to pay someone to do whatever needs to be done to your home, car, etc.; and 3) you're between these two poles, somewhat certain you can do some things and not others, but feeling like you should be able to do everything so you don't have to pay anyone since you can't really afford it. I, of course, am in the third category.
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