Fictional Fathers: Tim Taylor - Come Help Me With This
Do my kids see a dad who knows... or a dad who’s willing to try?
The Question
One of my favorite things to do with my boys is teach them something.
How to throw a baseball.
How to build a fire.
How to change a bike tire.
How to use a pocket knife.
How to pitch.
How to pack for camp.
How to grill a burger.
If I’m being honest, I love those moments. Partly because they’re useful. Partly because they’re fun. But mostly because they feel equal parts “dad moments” for me and “rites of passage” for them. I often give them instruction and then let them try, working very hard not to be a helicopter dad.
Hovering.
Correcting.
Making it seem like there is only one way to do things…
the right way, my way.
I’ve grown into this skill as a dad. Letting kids experience mistakes, even after I just taught them how to do it. If we can learn from those mistakes, we can generally figure out how to do anything, as long as we stick with it long enough.
Resilience. Creativity. Problem solving.
The kind of things that matter long after the lesson itself is forgotten. The funny thing is that most of those moments happen in my world. The garage. The backyard. The baseball field. The campsite. The places and activities I naturally enjoy.
And there is absolutely nothing wrong with that.
In fact, I think it’s one of the gifts fathers bring to their families.
We introduce our kids to things.
We teach skills.
We create experiences.
We invite them into our world.
The question is whether my boys only see what I know...
or whether they see how I learn.
The Fictional Father - Tim Taylor
Which is why Tim Taylor resonated with so many dads.
When I was a kid, I mostly watched for the laughs. The oversized tools. The grunting. The Tool Time disasters. Al Borland standing nearby, ready with a better idea and his trademark:
“I don’t think so, Tim.”
As a kid, I thought the show was about home improvement. As a dad, I realize it was mostly about people improvement. As a kid, I thought Tim was hilarious. As a dad, I notice something different. Underneath the power tools, the grunting, and the constant disasters was a guy who genuinely wanted to spend time with his kids.
His instinct was almost always the same:
“Come help me with this.”
Come build this. Come fix this. Come learn this. Come join me.
What I appreciate now is that Tim wasn’t inviting his kids only into things he had already mastered. Most of the time, he was trying to figure it out himself.
Usually with a little too much confidence.
Usually with a little too much horsepower.
And often with a trip to the emergency room somewhere along the way. He’d try something creative, ambitious, and occasionally insane, make a mess of it, and then have to go back and do it the right way. But there’s something powerful about that. His kids didn’t just see a dad who knew things.
They saw a dad who was learning.
A dad who made mistakes. A dad who failed publicly. A dad who kept going.
That’s a lesson kids need too.
Not just how to do something well.
But how to handle it when you don’t.
In My House
And honestly? That instinct still lives in me.
A few months ago one of the boys yelled upstairs: “Dad, the toilet isn’t working!”
There are few sentences that can destroy a man’s confidence faster.
Especially when you’ve already fixed that toilet.
Twice.
The first time I fixed it, I felt like a genius. The second time I felt like a capable homeowner. By the third repair, I was starting to wonder if I was actually the problem, the toilet was possessed, or if one of my kids was secretly undoing my fixes.
Each time I was convinced I had figured it out.
Each time I proudly announced that it was fixed.
And each time I felt a little less confident when I heard another voice from the bathroom asking for help.
The funny thing is that my boys were around for most of it. They watched me take things apart. Watch YouTube videos. Make trips to the hardware store. Use words that probably weren’t in the instruction manual. Put things back together. And occasionally discover that I had not, in fact, fixed the problem.
The good Lord has blessed me with a lot of things, being a handyman is not one of them.
When I am not emotionally attached to fixing a toilet, I can laugh about it with my boys. When I am on my fifth “fix” for the same issue, not so much.
Looking back, I don’t think the real lesson they learned was how a toilet works. The lesson was watching someone try. Watching someone get frustrated. Watching someone learn. Watching someone make mistakes. Watching someone keep going.
The Dad Move
Maybe that’s what Tim Taylor understood.
Kids learn from our successes and from our attempts.
What strikes me now is how many of my favorite memories with my boys started with an invitation. Come throw with me. Come help me build this. Come ride with me. Come camping with me. Come watch this. Come learn this.
But the invitation wasn’t the lesson. The lesson was what happened next.
The mistakes.
The adjustments.
The second attempts.
The moments when things didn’t go according to plan.
Maybe that’s why Tim Taylor still resonates.
His kids didn’t just watch him build things.
They watched him figure things out.
And sometimes the best lesson is watching Dad figure it out.
The Reset
So this week, I’m taking one question with me:
Do my kids see a dad who knows...
or a dad who’s willing to try?
And maybe the reset is simple.
Invite them in.
Let them help.
Let them see the mistakes.
Let them see the adjustments.
Let them see the second attempt.
Let them see the process.
Because one day they probably won’t remember exactly how I fixed the toilet. But they might remember what it looked like when Dad didn’t know the answer. What it looked like when Dad got frustrated. What it looked like when Dad tried again.
Sometimes the best lesson is watching Dad figure it out.
And if Al Borland had been standing next to me during toilet repair number five, he probably would have looked over the top of his flannel and said:
“I don’t think so, Jeremy.”
He wouldn’t have been wrong.
AMEN TO ALL OF THIS!! I love teaching my kids how to fix things. Sons and daughters, I don't care.
As a little girl raised by a single dad, I adore this piece. Actually mad eme smile several times. It would be interesting, to ask your children how they see you...might be a pretty insightful conversation. I would love to see how your Reset goes. Please share!