A Father's Day Tribute
It's ironic that I'm so obsessed with being handy, because my father was certainly not. He sometimes took a whole week of vacation to complete repairs around the house. I recall him spending one vacation re-stringing the Venetian blinds. What fun!
Our toolbox was a kitchen drawer that held a hammer, two sizes of small nails, one slotted and one Phillips screwdriver, a rusty wrench, and a pair of pliers. That's about it. One reason we had so little hardware was the fact that neither my father nor my mother knew how to use anything else.
My father was a wonderful man who possessed many talents, but handiness was not one of them. He had a mind that was more learned than any Ph.D. I've ever met, but he had no idea how to build a bookshelf or repair a broken window.
Yet, my dad taught me that I could be anything I wanted and learn anything I had a mind to learn. I like to think that he would be proud of my efforts now, seeing what I have built and the skills I have developed.
One of my favorite projects I ever undertook was refinishing and restoring the heavy walnut desk that belonged to my father. Over the years, time took its toll on the piece, which had become scratched and faded by the time I inherited it. I enjoyed every moment that I spent working on that restoration. I remembered him sitting at the desk paying bills, writing in his calendar, and planning the music for church on Sunday. I recalled playing hide and seek with my sister, huddling in the cubbyhole beneath the massive desktop, hoping she wouldn't see me behind the desk chair's legs. It gave me great pleasure to bring that beautiful wood back to life, and it still pleases me to see it every day in my bedroom.
Daddy, thank you for teaching me to be an independent, strong woman! I love you.
Our toolbox was a kitchen drawer that held a hammer, two sizes of small nails, one slotted and one Phillips screwdriver, a rusty wrench, and a pair of pliers. That's about it. One reason we had so little hardware was the fact that neither my father nor my mother knew how to use anything else.
My father was a wonderful man who possessed many talents, but handiness was not one of them. He had a mind that was more learned than any Ph.D. I've ever met, but he had no idea how to build a bookshelf or repair a broken window.
Yet, my dad taught me that I could be anything I wanted and learn anything I had a mind to learn. I like to think that he would be proud of my efforts now, seeing what I have built and the skills I have developed.
One of my favorite projects I ever undertook was refinishing and restoring the heavy walnut desk that belonged to my father. Over the years, time took its toll on the piece, which had become scratched and faded by the time I inherited it. I enjoyed every moment that I spent working on that restoration. I remembered him sitting at the desk paying bills, writing in his calendar, and planning the music for church on Sunday. I recalled playing hide and seek with my sister, huddling in the cubbyhole beneath the massive desktop, hoping she wouldn't see me behind the desk chair's legs. It gave me great pleasure to bring that beautiful wood back to life, and it still pleases me to see it every day in my bedroom.
Daddy, thank you for teaching me to be an independent, strong woman! I love you.
posted by Tif at 10:26 PM
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