I entered homeownership the same way I started driving on the highway: learning on the fly and in a blind panic. I bought my house in my late 20s, with minimal home-maintenance knowledge, a flathead screwdriver, a rubber mallet that had lived through the Carter administration – and the realization that throughout my life, I had been spared from doing the dirty work at the cost of learning how it was done.
Many of my (male) friends growing up had nice power drills their fathers had given them, along with lessons on how to use them safely – an education that, for them, seemed to happen almost by default. As a kid, I prepared for my Girl Scouts troop’s big annual event, the cookie sale, while my brother’s Cub Scouts troop was learning to use coping saws and screwdrivers for the Pinewood derby. As recently as this year, I struck up a conversation with a welder and expressed my longtime interest in learning the skill, only to have him say it would probably be too difficult for me.
