MacGyver . . . Everybody’s Hero

I don’t know why they took MacGyver off the air. I mean, besides to save Mothers from the torture of watching episodes over and over again (but they put them on DVD to solve that “problem”). Maybe it was so I’d quit finding “bombs” made out of Q-tips and duct tape all over the house. Or maybe Richard Dean Anderson just got too old. I mean, as an 8 year old my crush on the handsome guy with the mullet and bomber jacket who wielded a pocket knife and had a new girlfriend in every episode could not have been reasoned away by even the most daring opponent. Mullets were cool back then, so that argument wouldn’t have gotten anyone anywhere either. But age was probably not on his side and it’d be tough to replace a mullet like that with a new actor, regardless of how good their hairdresser was.

Thanks to Netflix and the brilliant idea of putting seasons of television on DVD, we no longer have to go without. In fact, my house has been completely taken over. Kyle has seen EVERY episode in their original form and Hunter is well on his way to achieving that now. Even my own Dad eggs on this behavior:

My crush having passed LONG ago, this has left me wondering what is so amazingly fascinating about MacGyver. And as annoyed as I get by repeatedly watching him save the day and create explosives and contraptions to get him out of any situation, I know the answer to my own question. Men, by nature, fix things (or want to). They want to fix our problems, they want to fix the car and the house . . . and the bikes and the toys and the furniture . . . They see it as the heroic part of their job. As women we want to emotionally drag ourselves through things and more often than not, we don’t even care if there IS a solution to be found. Fretting over it is more our style anyway. We want to discuss it and think about it and torture ourselves over it. Who needs solutions!

MacGyver fixes things. He does it in less than 45 minutes. And he does it as the “underdog” with almost nothing to work with. Men resonate with and idolize him. Women swoon over him and all men like him. It’s manhood at its finest. I don’t care who you are.

So, as much as I loathe MacGyver’s newfound every day presence in my life, I like him. And truth be told, I married a MacGyver. My husband owns duct tape in every color, including camo. He has a spattering of knives (which all apparently serve their own individual purpose) and always carries one . . . even to church. He has tools in every vehicle and all over my house. And he always “needs” more. He can fix anything . . . and I’m not exaggerating. If it’s broken and I tell him, he’ll fix it. I can count on it. I also know that as annoying as it is to have him insist on sitting with his back to the wall (meaning he faces all people and entrances) while we eat out at a restaurant, that I can count on him to save my darn life if any sort of hostage situation should occur. In fact, he’d probably save everybody’s. Kyle even sported a mullet when he was nine. A curly mullet, but still. He’s cut from the MacGyver mold. And so are my sons. And as much as I like to tease them about it and laugh about it, I’m grateful. I’m grateful for my manly boys . . . for their ingenuity and desire to fix everything. I can count on them and I do quite frequently.

So MacGyver . . . thanks . . . I think.