The only time I become an automotive expert is when my daughter has car trouble

I am not a car guy. Nor am I a fix-it guy.

I'm a guy who drives a car. When it breaks, I call a car guy.

I do, however, stay on top of car maintenance. Which is to say that every few weeks, I check Terry's car, Jack's car and my car to ensure tires are properly inflated, fluids are topped off, no one is due for an oil change, etc.

Beyond that, I'm not the first person you call when your car is making a funny noise.

Unless you're my daughter Melanie, in which case I am absolutely the first person you call when your car is making a funny noise.

In the past few months Mel has called me when her battery died (remedied by an easy jump start that even I could manage) and when her brakes started grinding (I know the sound of worn brake pads when I hear it...we took the car immediately to our mechanic Randy, a true car guy).

This makes me feel good because I'm able to help Mel and because it's very much a dad thing to come to the rescue when your child needs help.

I can, by the way, also replace engine and cabin air filters, and I know how to change a tire. But that's about the extent of my skills.

I could probably change my own oil if someone showed me how, but instead I pay someone to do it for me.

Where I DO excel is in maintaining a file on our computer with maintenance/repair records for each of our cars. It shows the dates and mileage for oil changes, new tire installation, and major procedures like brakes, belts and transmission flushes.

That way I can figure out when a car is really due for periodic maintenance and when the mechanic is just trying to upsell me.

One way or another, my nerdy organizational and computer skills always make up for what I lack in other departments.

5 things I should know how to do but never got around to learning

(1) HOW TO CHANGE MY OWN OIL
It isn't difficult, I know, and there are plenty of YouTube videos to answer my two most burning questions, which are (a) Where is the oil plug on my car? and (b) What do I do with the old oil? But I continue to pay 20 or 30 bucks a pop to have someone else change the oil on our cars. At some point I'll learn. Really.

(2) HOW TO WEAR A SCARF
Like a winter scarf, I mean, not one of those women's infinity scarves that we'll all look at someday in old photos and say, "Wow, that must have been 2014 or 2015 because I was wearing one of those scarves. Those things were huge! What were we thinking?" Anyway, given that the temperature is something like 5 degrees outside as I type this, this is a relevant question. I'm never sure whether you wrap it around your neck or just let it hang down or what. This should be obvious to me. It's not.

(3) HOW TO PROPERLY GRILL MEAT
This is one of those things that American men are supposed to know. And most do. But not me. When I grill, the meat comes out dry, burnt, or both. What am I missing?

(4) HOW TO APPRECIATE OPERA
I try! Seriously, I try. I love classical music, especially symphonic music and concertos. Listen to it all the time. But any time I tune into WCLV 104.9 FM, our local classical station to which I donate $5 a month (hey, it's something) on a Saturday morning or early afternoon, there's an Italian man yelling at me. Or at least that's how it seems to me. I have excellent recordings of "Otello" and "Carmen," but I have to struggle to get through them. Someday opera and I will be good friends. But as of  yet, it hasn't happened.

(5) HOW TO STOMACH WHISKEY OR ANY OTHER HARD LIQUOR
Oh man, that stuff is horrible. All of it. Don't tell me you have some excellent sipping whiskey or a great vodka or something because it all tastes like floor cleaner to me. Of course, I used to say that all wine tastes like vinegar and feet, and suddenly I find myself a wine drinker, so apparently taste buds change. But for now, keep the fancily bottled floor cleaner away from me.

One way to save your children from having YOU as a parent

I don't have many theories about raising children, mostly because I'm pretty much winging it as I go. I've been winging it for close to 19 years. And so far none of my kids have:

(a) committed a felony (or at least there have been no convictions)
(b) lost their lives while under my care
(c) been abducted by a man in a windowless white van

These are my criteria for parenting success. I'm not sure I'm capable of much more.

Which is why, as I often say, Terry cannot die. Well, eventually she CAN die. I have no say over that. But it absolutely must not happen in the next 15 years, because she's the one who instills actual values into our children and teaches them practical stuff.

My role, other than to eventually get another job and resume my duties as Chief Provider, is to teach them things like:

- Why hockey was meant to be played 4 on 4
- Why the 3,000-mile oil change is a scam
- Why 1983 was the greatest year in the history of music
- Why you need to pour milk into a cereal bowl in a certain way such that every single piece of cereal gets milk on it BEFORE you start eating. This is vitally important.
- Why you should never put your hand on the table.

Regarding that last point, I'm thinking it has been covered before in this blog, hasn't it? Hold on a second while I go and check...

Ah, yes, this tradition of mine was described in a post last April (see point #8). In case you have no desire to click on that link (and honestly, I wouldn't be that motivated if I were you), I've been doing this thing with the kids since they were little in which I try to get them to put their hands flat on the kitchen table. When they do, I pound their hand − hard − and say, "NEVER put your hand on the table!"

Why, you wonder? And I ask, "why not?" It's to the point that I have to trick them into actually putting their hands on the table, and I'm lucky if I can get even one of them to do it in the space of a year. They're clearly on to me.

But every once in awhile I'll put on a stern face when one of our offspring is sitting at the table and say, "Did you spill milk here? I can't believe you spilled your milk." And the kid will indignantly say, "I didn't spill my milk! What are you talking about?" And I'll rub the table and say, "Well, then, why is it so sticky here?"

And then, if the stars align just right and the child forgets who they're talking to, they'll get an annoyed look on their face and rub the spot I show them. And in the space of 8 milliseconds, my fist will come crashing down onto their hand and I will triumphantly remind them NEVER TO PUT THEIR HAND ON THE TABLE.

This is the greatest feeling in the world, and it actually teaches them a valuable lesson: Namely, that you can't trust ANYONE in the world, not even your crazy father. Maybe especially your crazy father.

The point is, I clearly won't be writing a parenting book any time soon. And if I do, it will be called "Never Put Your Hand on the Table: And Other Things I've Tried to Teach My Poor Children." It won't sell well, but I'll be a hero to dads across the world who make it their mission in life to show kids the value of pain.

Still, I will say this: If I have learned anything from nearly two decades of dad-dom, it is the value of confidence in a child. You cannot, in my view, overestimate the value of a child's self-worth.

Now, before you conservative types get your panties in a bunch, please understand that I'm not talking about the cheap, feel-good brand of self-esteem our society so often tries to pump into kids these days. I'm not for everyone getting a trophy, no score being kept (in most circumstances), etc. etc. etc.

I'm talking about the very real benefits of simply helping a kid believe they're worth something. And that they can do whatever (realistic) task set before them.

I think there's value in doing this for every kid, but especially girls. I coach a lot of girls sports, and I've found this unfortunate fragility that creeps into the psyche of female athletes starting at about the age of 10 and often lasting well into their teenage years (and beyond).

You have to be very careful how you deal with them. Criticism absolutely needs to be offered in a positive, constructive way. This is not to say they're not tough. They absolutely are (and vicious, too...I'm telling you, girls soccer games are as rough as any football game in which I ever played).

But Lord knows these girls are bombarded daily with the not-so-subtle message that they're not good enough. They're not skinny enough, they're not pretty enough, they're not smart enough, and on and on and on. They don't need to be beaten down on the athletic field, too. They should feel empowered by sports.

That doesn't mean I won't be tough on them. I will. I'll let you know if you're not playing to your potential. You can't help lack of natural ability, but you most certainly can help lack of effort.

Ultimately, though, these girls need to hear five positive things for every one negative. And the "negative" shouldn't even be negative as much as a guideline for improvement. Yes, one day they'll need to be ready to deal with a tough boss, and yes, we need to prepare them for the roller coaster ride of life.

But to my way of thinking, the way we do that in these adolescent years is to build a base of self-confidence that will naturally breed toughness, strength of character, and all of that other Girl Scout stuff that actually means something in life.

So I take every opportunity I can to praise my daughters. I do it with my sons, too, but I don't think they're fighting the same battles as my girls.

And besides, my boys instinctively KNOW a 2005 Honda Accord can go 5,000 miles before it's time to change the oil...