If any of you know my Dad you will agree that without solid evidence of who his parents were, one could be convinced he is the love child of McGyver and Napolean Dynamite. This man can make a computer out of nothing else but a paper clip and a magnet, bake a sponge cake of unmatched spongey-ness, ski bare-foot along the River and light a fire using only his mind. Ok that last one is not exactly true but you get the point; the guys’ an all round genius…. He’ll be taking up the hem of your new jeans whilst solving some kind of algebraic, geometric or trigonometric problem.
Once my sister and I were shocked to over-hear Dad confessing to himself, after examining a broken some-thing, that he had come to the infrequent conclusion that it could not be fixed: “I don’t think there’s too much Davy Sprocket can do about this one”. This self-proclamation earned for him, not only an eruption of fit-inducing laughter but also the self-asserted nickname: “Davy Sprocket”. Over the years, the interminable knowledge Davy so humbly and dorkishly beholds, has led others to have certain faith in any decisions he may make.
So, this week the Canadian and I finally moved into our new place. FINALLY. And we have spent the best part of the last few months (so the weekends) traipsing about the country going through the grueling (and expensive) process of deciding on furniture and other necessities that would fill our new house. On more than one occasion we spent beyond our means but seeing we are from the age of the credit card we clearly don’t mind. The only time we did mind was with the new couch. The beautiful new couch that we had purchased on lay-by. When the day finally arrived to pick it up, Davy offered to borrow his friends trailer and drive us to the place about an hour away to help out. Perfect. Nothing could go wrong with Sprocket on board.
We pick up the couch and it fits snug into the back of the trailer so Davy makes the un-disputed decision that the couch does not need to be tied down (I realise that the following is inevitably obvious given the build up, but I feel it deserves to be re-counted; stick with me) So we’re whistling along the highway at 100 clicks and Dad, glances for what must have been the first time into the rear-vision mirror and cries out in dismay: “WHAT’S HAPPENED HERE?” In slow motion I turn my head 180 degrees to discover an EMPTY TRAILER. The couch had done what no one had expected it to do- it had been flung from the trailer, suicided itself in some form of fatal protest against being purchased. Didn’t it think we were going to treat it well? Take care of it, not put our feet up on it, give it a nice warm home? Gone.
We turn the car around and at this stage I’m in tears; the credit card bill that had previously evaded my conscience had crept into my head in stark realisation that A) we couldn’t afford this couch anyway and B) If we couldn’t afford it in the first place how the fuck* could we pay for another one? Finally we spot the couch upside-down in the distance, having back-tracked about 4 kms. The couch is strewn in the bushes off to the side of the road. Like some kind of tragic accident, people are slowing their cars down to take a look, mesmerized, unable to look away. Me in tears, certain of death but full of hope, slowly and cautiously, with the delicate treatment a real car crash victim would receive, we turn the couch over to examine the damage.
RUINED.
Each end torn to shreds, the fabric utterly devastated from the impact and everyone trying to come to terms with the shock of what had just occurred. We delicately place the couch back on to the trailer, tie it down and make the solemn and slow trip home, in what seemed to be a sort of furniture-funeral procession sans flowers or other mourners.
After what seemed like eons, Davy finally made the declaration that he would admit full responsibility for the tragedy that had just occurred. That he would fix the couch. We were skeptical I have to tell you, could this man’s talents really stretch to re-upholstering furniture? Yes. And let it be known that I sit here today, typing this, comfortably snug with my feet up, on the my beautifully resurrected, re-upholstered, scar-less couch.
You’ve done it again Davy Sprocket. You really are the greatest, most intelligent, chivalrous, self-less, un-intentionally hilarious and over-all loving person I have ever met, and I sure am lucky to be your kid.
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