So, this idea of ‘valiant’s son’. Sounds grand, doesn’t it? Like you’re supposed to automatically inherit some kind of strength or skill from the old guard. Well, I decided to put that to a real test, not just talk about it.
I had this old piece of kit lying around. Belonged to someone I respected, let’s just say. Solidly built, from a time when things were made to last, but it wasn’t working right. The easy thing? Toss it, buy a new one. But then this ‘valiant’s son’ thought popped into my head. Could I actually fix it? Be worthy of the legacy, you know?
Getting Stuck In
First thing, I dragged it onto the workbench. Gave it a good look over. Dust everywhere, a bit of rust. Looked simple enough on the outside. Famous last words, right? I started by just giving it a thorough clean, hoping maybe it was just clogged up with years of grime. No luck.
Alright, plan B. Time to open it up. I grabbed some screwdrivers and started taking off the outer shell. Inside, it was a maze of wires and little components I didn’t recognize. No manual, of course. Why would there be? People back then just knew how things worked, or knew someone who did.
Here’s basically how it went:
- Took detailed photos as I disassembled. Thought I was being clever.
- Cleaned every single tiny part I could reach.
- Spotted what looked like the broken bit. A small gear, teeth worn down.
- Searched online for hours trying to find a replacement. Found nothing. Zilch.
- Tried to see if I could maybe fashion a replacement part myself. That was a joke.
- Put it all back together, hoping maybe I’d magically fixed it by taking it apart. Still broken.
Spent a whole weekend on it. Got greasy, cut my thumb, swore a lot. My wife asked if I was making progress. I think I just grunted at her.
Why Bother?
It got me thinking though. Why was I putting myself through this? Reminded me of my first job, actually. Had this foreman, real old-school type. If a tool broke, you didn’t ask for a new one. You brought it to him, and he’d either fix it right there or show you how. He always said, “Waste not, want not. Plus, how you gonna respect the tool if you don’t know how it works?”
I remember wanting a new, lighter hammer once. Mine was ancient, heavy. He just looked at me, picked up my hammer, swung it a few times, handed it back. Said, “Nothing wrong with this hammer. Maybe something wrong with the arm swinging it?” He wasn’t being mean, just practical. Taught me a lesson, I suppose. You appreciate things more when you understand the effort that goes into making them work, or keeping them working.
The Reality Check
So, back to the workbench. Did I manage to be the ‘valiant’s son’ and fix the old kit? Nah. Still busted. Sitting there in a box, actually. Maybe I’ll try again someday, maybe not.
What I figured out is this: being ‘valiant’s son’ isn’t about some magic transfer of skill. It’s not about always succeeding. It’s more about the willingness to try, to engage with something difficult, to understand the value in things beyond their replacement cost. It’s about getting your hands dirty and learning, even if the lesson is just that you can’t fix everything. Sometimes, you just gain a bit more respect for the original ‘valiant’ guy who knew how to handle this stuff in the first place. And maybe, just maybe, you think twice before throwing something away.