Dear Old Guy welcomes letters on all subjects, including love, marriage, child rearing, even basic plumbing and medical advice. What he doesn’t know, he is happy to make up. After all, he’s just an opinionated Old Guy. Submit your questions to Dear Old Guy here.

Dear Old Guy,

          Someone just asked me what I’m going to do with my tax refund this year. It didn’t take but a second for me to answer, Pay last year’s taxes. I’m nearing 40 years and if life has taught me anything it’s that there’s no getting ahead. Old Guy, you’ve reached something of an apex in your years. Looking back, can you tell me, is there some point in a person’s life when they finally catch a break?

                                                                               Signed, Oh, so tired

Dear Oh so,

          No. No break ever. Some folks will try to console you through hard times by offering the tired saw that some horrible part of your life is a test. They will say, This is a test. Ministers like to sell you on that concept. Well I’m here to point out, if you remember anything about tests in school, that all that happens when you pass is that you now have to prepare for the next, more difficult test. Ain’t that grand?

          OK, so now that you know the truth, why get out of bed in the morning? Why try anything? Because, though you may not know it, that big break you’re hoping for is actually a series of short ones that are so perfect they get us through the parts of life that just plain stink. Example? For weeks you bloody your knuckles under the hood of your first car just to get it on the road. Then the day finally comes when you are cruising down the open road with a full tank of gas. That’s the payoff  before your back under the car looking for the oil leak. Another example? In terms of hours, you’ve spent more time changing your kid’s diapers and cleaning dribble off your shirt than you will ever get back in smiles and coos… but those moments are the payoff. If you pulled an all nighter at work and come home in time to see a great sunrise, that’s your payoff, too. Take them where you can.—O.G.

 Dear Old Guy,

          I want you to tell my husband to stop removing all the safety features from his tools. The issue came to a head the other day when he brought home a new, whatchamacallit kind of saw built into a table. He removed the plastic guard thing from over the blade and threw away some other parts, as well. He has more tools too that seem very dangerous. I watched that carpentry show on cable and those guys are very careful… but not my George. I’m afraid that someday he’ll impale himself on whatever that sharp thing used to slice wood is called. Please help me convince George that safety comes first.

                    Signed, Not ready to be married to a man missing a finger, or worse

Dear Not ready,

          Those carpenters on cable remind me of beach balls I’ve seen with the warning Not a toy. There’s safety and then there’s safety. I hate to tell you but many of the apparatus that come on tools these days make doing the job impossible and at times more dangerous. They are on there because some fool government regulator is trying to justify his job by protecting fools from themselves. Those television carpenters have to go along with the foolishness because the studio bigwigs are worried about being sued by anyone who watches the show then get’s nicked by a bandsaw.

When I was growing up we had basic rules, protect your eyes and stand on firm ground so you don’t loose your footing while leaning over a piece of equipment. There were other things too, but you get the idea.

My guess is that since George still has all his fingers he’s being pretty careful. You don’t want him standing over you saying things like, don’t plug in the toaster with wet hands. Trust me if the government ever decides to make kitchens safer we are all in for a lot of trouble. —O.G.

Dear Old Guy,

          I’m 10 and my brother is 20. Right now I’m half his age. In 10 yearsm when I’m 20 and he’s 30, I’ll be two thirds his age and when I’m 30 and he’s 40 I’ll be  three quarter’s his age. It looks to me like I’m catching up. I’m having trouble with the math. How long would I have to live for my brother and I to be the same age?

                                                                      Signed, Perplexed

Dear Perplexed,

          OK, I got out my abacus for this one. If your brother dies at 100 years old and you live another 10 you will be the same age. Thanks for the mental exercise! —O.G.