Lucille: Do you remember the Christmas after Marty was born?
Tim: Do l? We're upstairs babysitting, his belly button falls off. Scared the hell out of all of us. "Mom, you had better get up here. I think this kid's falling apart." That was the... that was the Christmas I helped Dad finish the staircase.
[flashback:]
Michael Taylor: Hey, Tim. Tim.
Young Tim: [o.s.] Yeah, Dad?
Michael Taylor: I want to check your measurements for the carpeting for the stairs.
Young Tim: You don't have to. I already cut it.
Michael Taylor: [grunts] Oh, no.
Young Tim: Don't worry. I know what I'm doing. [unrolls carpet] [grunts] Oh, no.
Michael Taylor: Tim, what did I tell you? You gotta measure twice and cut once. Plus, I didn't ask you to cut it, son.
Young Tim: Sorry. I guess I messed up again.
Michael Taylor: Ah, it's all right. Working with tools, it's not for everybody and, well, when you grow up you'll find something that's more suitable for you.
Lucille: [o.s.] Michael, Tim, time to get ready for dinner.
Young Tim: I can smell the turkey burning.
Michael Taylor: Son, there is nothing like your mother's turkey. All dark meat.