People wonder why I am always talking about my home improvements. Trust me, I am not bragging, my work is not that good. Besides, it goes deeper than that — it is about a stance, a position of resistance.

To say that I was raised in a home of modest means would be an understatement; still, I would not describe my youth as hardscrabble either. Christmas was filled with toys, and every August my mother would take me to Sears and Liberty House for my new school clothes. I was never embarrassed by my socioeconomic status, but I knew that I had less than many of my peers at school.

We were decidedly self-reliant at home. My father was our carpenter, plumber, roofer, yardman and electrician. I suppose some of his projects were rooted in home improvement, but most amounted to home repairs. Those things that needed fixing made it to the top of the to-do list, while actual home improvements were relegated to the "when time and money are available" list.

I am not sure that I live any higher on the hog than my father. If commercials during golf telecasts are any indication, I have too little in my IRA, I am underinsured and my car is too old. I have a flat-screen television, but it is in the guest room. And my stereo? It's 15 years old — though it was top-of-the-line circa 1990. Every day I am told that I could (and should) have more and every day I think, "for what?"

Like my dad, I always seem to have a project going on at home. But Dad's tasks were born out of a combination of rugged individualism and necessity, whereas my projects are the result of good modeling (watching Dad) and civil disobedience.

I have heard it said that the best way to help our troubled economy is to spend, spend, spend. Near as I can tell, that's bound to help the corporation, but it will drive me broke; and forgive me if I seem pessimistic, but I don't trust the trickle-down effect. So I repair and improve and in the process I spend — a little — and save a bunch. It is my way of sticking it to the man and saying that I am not buying into either planned or perceived obsolescence. Big business wants me to replace rather than repair, but I refuse.

My hope, of course, is that my daughter will see my (not so) handiwork and recognize the brilliance of my personal resistance movement. So far so bad! While she appreciates my work and often rewards my efforts with an ice-cold adult beverage, it has no real place in her world. In fact, as I pulled back from the kitchen counter to admire my new backsplash, she ran to her bedroom to retrieve the new dress and earrings she bought for her first school dance. I am not asking her to sew her own clothes and make her own jewelry, but I can't help but believe that even while I am winning the battle, I am losing the war.