The 25 year-old hot water heater began gurgling ominously, sounding it’s own death knell. Every plumber my daughter called recommended replacing the unit – and offered to do so personally for a magnificent fee.
With an eye on the family checkbook, she called dear-old Dad. He works for food, expenses, parts – and one’s willingness to put up with his status as an amateur who is more than eager to try new things.
This time one new thing was an expansion tank. Some said it had to be put in, others said it wasn’t necessary – if there was not enough space in an existing unit. He bought one to install, but never got to install it. There simply was not room. The new tank could not fit through the door to take over the old hot water heater’s spot.
Dad and daughter used a crowbar and removed the door frame to install the tank.
Between the tank’s tight fit and the tremor in his aging hands, hubby drafted volunteers for soldering barely visible pipes – sometimes two and three times – sometimes long after they were fixed.
When her husband came home from work, he helped seal pipes until they no longer leaked. “That is so cool. That silver stuff just flows right in there,” son-in-love observed.
To attach the tank to the faucet, they purchased a special plumbing wrench recommended by the hardware store man.
As they worked around the hot water heater, Dad kept asking for “that special plumbing wrench.” My English teacher daughter found the real name and played “Name that wrench” with her dad until she correctly identified crescent, pipe, hexagonal, basin and half a dozen other wrenches.
We now are the proud owners of not one, but two basin wrenches … “because you know it takes two to really fix a faucet,” at least that was my husband’s explanation a couple week’s later when she asked if he would fix her leaky kitchen faucet and install a spray nozzle.
Usually I do not get to accompany Mr. Fix-it, but that time I did.
He started out confident he could quickly work his way through this simple job.
And he did – until he turned on the water and it sprayed everywhere.
He had forgotten to close the pipe joints with Teflon tape. He eased the pipes apart and drafted me to wrap a flimsy layer of white plastic around the ends of the pipes.
Then he pulled out the basin wrenches and invited me to join him under the sink where we orchestrated a faucet attachment.
There’s nothing quite like plumbing to get a little quality time with the husband. With only a door jamb between us, we quietly laid side-by-side barely saying a word as we each wielded a basin wrench tightening the bolts on the bottom side of my daughter’s faucet.
He declared it perfect, turned on the water and … got very wet.
“Man this is leaking bad,” he said, turned it off and looked for the problem. It only took him a couple more showers before he realized he hadn’t hooked up the sprayer’s faucet line.
Next week, he will be working on the plumbing in my son’s house. Too bad its in Pennsylvania or I would have another grand opportunity to realize the truth that the family that plumbs together, gets sprayed together.
(Joan Hershberger is a reporter at the News-Times. She can be reached at joanh@everybody.org.)