If there is such a thing as a handyman gene, mine is recessive. Here is a modest example of my ineptitude, which manifested itself when our neighborhood recently lost power.

A couple of years ago, we bought a generator. An electrician modified our electrical panel so the generator could power our house without sending juice backward down the outside power lines.

I bought five propane tanks of the size normally used for grilling, hooked one of them up, and—printed instructions in hand—did a test run. Perfect. Bring on the power outages, we are ready.

Since we got the generator,  power outages, obviously intimidated by our preparedness, have avoided the neighborhood. Until a couple of weeks ago. A foot of heavy, wet snow fell, and we woke up powerless.

I used a flashlight to find the electrical box, switched the main breaker to the generator as I had been shown, and locked it in the proper position. I switched off all the household breakers, intending to turn them back on one at a time once the generator was running.

I grabbed a propane tank, a connecting hose, and the thick electrical cable that hooks the generator to the house. It was cold and windy out, but I didn’t mind. In just a few minutes, I would be back in the house—the well-lighted house—smiling a happy smile.

The instructions for starting the generator were easy and I remembered them clearly. Connect the tank to the generator, connect the electrical cable to the generator and the house, turn the fuel source dial so it points to propane, flip the On switch, and push the Start button.

The generator made cranking noises, but didn’t start. It rested for a few moments and tried again. Then a third time. Nothing. Each time it tried to start, the battery weakened. Then it died.

Darn. Darn. Double darn. But not to worry. As a backup, the generator has a pull start, which I pulled repeatedly, but to no avail.

Wait a minute. Wasn’t there something about adjusting the choke when using the pull start? I looked about, but didn’t see anything labeled Choke.

I decided to give up, go inside, and read the instructions. Which I couldn’t find. Not to be defeated, I used data on my phone to access the Internet and found the user manual for my generator. I swiped through the pages and located the starting instructions.

Properly adjust the indoor electrical box. Did it. Connect the electrical cable. Did it. Connect the propane tank. Did it. Then my eyes fell on the next line, and I cursed my recessive gene. It said, open the valve on the propane tank.

I went out and stared menacingly at the tank’s valve, as if it were the valve’s fault it was closed and not mine. I opened the valve and hit the start button. The generator’s battery, with its last ounce of energy, started the engine.

Need a handyman? Don’t call me.

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