Official announcement from the office of Risto Pakarinen: I am the new new renaissance man of the 21st century, the kind who can’t do anything. By “do” I mean fix things, plant anything, or make any visible – constructive, literally – changes in my surroundings.

But I can play ball.

My father is the old new renaissance man – one generation after the renaissance man, and two after being just men – who, when he sees a sign that’s a little crooked, pulls up his Leatherman, and an odd screw he happens to have in his pocket, and fixes it.

He flew in a few weeks ago, right after we had moved, and spent a couple of days fixing our electricity issues, hammering a few floor boards, making new windowsills, showing us how the canopies work, and curing the battery of my camera by putting it in the freezer for 24 hours.

And that’s before the afternoon nap.

Before Hannes was born, my then-girlfriend now-wife wondered out loud if I’d turn into a Dad who can do anything, fix bikes and make periscopes, and so on.

I didn’t. She did.

My wife, the amazing J, is the new renaissance woman who can fix things. One of the light switches my father fixed, only lasted a day or so because I was to cheap to buy a proper switch. J put on her toolbelt – a proverbial one, she doesn’t really have one – and spent another three hours staring at the switch, just like my father had done, and changed it. Let there be light, she said, and there was.

Still is.

Meanwhile, I was upstairs, blogging and tweeting, reading, and making fake news, then later, in the kitchen, warming up leftover pizza.

I may not be the handiest man in the world, but I don’t think I’m alone in this. At least, if I look at my friends for help. I think I only know one carpenter and one car mechanic, and unfortunately, both of them live in Finland. The rest of my friends are surely funny, sarcastic at times, they like hockey, sports, or writing, and might be able to put a nice-looking website for you. They’re people, like me, who you want to have at the housewarming party – but who won’t be able to warm the house if the power goes out.

But you know what? I can play ball. I love to play ball. Any kind.

Today, I had a friend over, an old hockey buddy, and we decided to walk to the park with H, my daughter. Just for kicks, we grabbed two baseball gloves (one American, one Finnish-style) and a tennis ball, so we could play some catch.

An hour and 25 minutes later, we’re throwing the ball hard, trying to “break the world record”. And some twenty minutes later, we did break it.

Pretty good for two slightly overweight guys in their “very late thirties” trying to break an imaginary world record. I won’t say what the new record was, just keep the mystery alive. And to be fair to my friend, he is a chef so at least he can do something.

My dad – being a true renaissance man – did find the time to play catch with me, too, when he was here. So he can do that, too.

And me? Well, now I have blogged about it. Next, a tweet about the blog. Then I’ll share all this with my hapless friends on Facebook.