Dadsplaining. Not to be confused with mansplaining. Which will actually make my entire head explode. Dadsplaining is just about the only way I have managed to survive for 48 years.

Dadsplaining is why I can claim to be a strong, independent woman. (Usually I like to throw the word intelligent in there. But that seems somewhat contradictory to what follows. So we’ll just save that adjective for the next blog.)

The number of times I have told my dad that something doesn’t work in my home. Only to have him drive 45 minutes to come show me that it does, in fact, work. Well, it’s more times than I am comfortable with.

He recently spent several minutes crawling around my bathroom floor last week punching it because I have an unfounded fear that the floor is unstable, and I was insisting that the entire thing will collapse into my kitchen if I try to use the shower.

(It’s ok. I have a second bathroom downstairs. On what I believe to be an entirely stable floor. I am able to clean myself. When I feel like it.)

Told him how the door to my laundry room won’t stay closed. Even demonstrated it. “Look! I close it and it just falls back open!”

My dad looked at it for a few seconds. “Ok, here’s how you close it.” (And it did, in fact, stay closed.) (Whatever.)

Then my mom chimes in, “You just got mansplained!”

No. That is absolutely not what just happened here.

I had to daughtersplain to her that it doesn’t count when it’s your dad. Dads are supposed to explain things. It’s dadsplaining. And it’s a good thing.

Because without it, I’d still be mowing my lawn with Walter three to four days out of every week convinced that my riding mower doesn’t work. Or tearing up a bathroom floor I can’t afford to replace to look at wood and joists and shit I don’t really have any understanding of. Or spending hundreds of dollars on an electrician convinced that the outlets in two very specific rooms didn’t work.

Actually, that last one was my son.

But sonsplaining is acceptable, too. I put a lot of time money and effort into those boys. They owe me some explanations.

And just so we’re clear. I will continue to refuse explanations from any men that I did not create or that did not create me. If you have any explanations for me. You should relay those through one of the appropriate men in my life. Just know, they’re pretty smart. And probably understand what you’re trying to explain better than you do.

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