Bob,
I know what you mean. My kids just say, "Cool, Dad," and, "Can you fix this?" But there's no curiosity as to what makes something work. I can't relate to that, because I have always HAD to know how something works. When I was in college studying biochemistry all my friends - every last one of them - were engineering majors. Those were the people I gravitated toward. I was the only non-engineering major in the college ham radio club, too, and one of only a few who actually diddled around with making electronic gadgets. When I took the test in order to use the engineering department's shop equipment, I argued with the TA who was administering the test, explaining to him why you don't use a miter gauge and a rip fence on a tablesaw together to cut off short pieces of wood, and if you must do so, why you don't stand directly in line with the blade, and why you don't cut fiberglass on a bandsaw. The shop super agreed that was an oversight, thanked me, told me I passed, and modified the test.
Flew to Steamboat Springs to go skiing with girlfriend. Her girlfriend and hubby drove in from Indiana. When they got there, hubby explained they hardly made it up the hill; they had the (old Volvo) engine tuned up just before they left and it ran like crap the whole way. It was dusk, and it was snowing, but I had a couple ideas, so I asked him to flip the lid. The exhaust manifold and header pipe were glowing dull red. I looked around and found that plug wires #2 and #3 were swapped. Next morning as we left, it was 10 degrees and had snowed during the night. The driveway out of the rented cabin went down into a gully then up a steep grade to the main road. It's hard for a cold carbureted engine to transition from running in compression mode to full throttle. The cold engine died in the bottom of the gully. The driver couldn't get it to start. Thick black smoke and smell of raw gas. From the smell I knew what the problem was. Asked him to flip the lid, then found a forked stick and jammed it in the top of the carb (they had those things in 1983) to hold the automatic choke valve open in the thin high altitude air. Got back in the car, engine started and we were off for a day of skiing, rather than waiting for AAA. Yeah, I got laid that night. My girlfriend (now my wife) says her friend and hubby still talk about that and wonder how I knew what the problem was. The guy's now an attorney; a smart guy, but knew nothing about cars.
Those things shouldn't be unusual, but like Bob says, they are increasingly so these days. I was raised in a family of schoolteachers. Never had any money to pay someone else to do anything for us. My dad taught math, science and industrial arts. Changed his own oil, replaced his own brakes, and showed me how to do so. He built cabinets nights and weekends and usually worked on a house with a few of his teacher-buddies every summer. They don't teach autoshop at our local highschool anymore. Neither is there woodshop or metal shop. Kids aren't taught how to build crummy birdhouses or how to bend and solder sheet metal into a tool tray festooned with meathooks to give to their Dad for Christmas. One wonders how we'll survive in an economy dominated by fast food joints and banking service centers.
Quinn