A tribute to my Dad (who's alive and well)

I don't have very good timing (school/work starts in a week and I'm still tearing the bathroom apart) because this kind of a post would be better for something like Father's day.

Growing up my father was something like Hephaestus who was the god of crafts, technology, smithing etc. Whether it was wiring, plumbing, carpentry, foundation work, you name it. He's a mill wright by trade, which naturally lends itself to knowing many things. In my adult life whenever I embark upon something crafty I think of my dad. Of course I've had a lot of experiences in my life that contribute to my knowledge, so its not that I necessarily recall lessons he taught me. Rather he's sort of my patron saint of fixing and building.

The number of fixing and building activities has been rather numerous lately and so I've been thinking of my Dad a lot. There are many little triggers to do this. We both wear Hanes T-shirts, often with pockets. Our t-shirts are kind of ratty and smell of sawdust and sweat. Like many men he'd enjoy a couple of beers over the course of the day when working on some project. I don't drink very much, but when I work on fixing and building I find that a cold beer is a good way to step back and think about what's going on. I think I dwell and worry more than my dad, so the beer helps there too. Of course I drink better beer than Dad (sorry Dad, but its true :)

He'd also smoke a cigar (Garcia Vega). I tried that years ago while working construction...cough cough cough...never really took. But nevertheless I can smell it while working, or at least I think I can. He's a good image to have in my head while working. I never remember him cursing or becoming upset while working on something. He'd silently ponder the situation and just carry on, somehow he knew what he was doing....and this was before youtube!

So as I sit here, taking a break from my recent destructions/discoveries, and I sip on a summer ale (Shipyard)I remember Saturdays watching This Old House and The Woodwright's Shop. I think of hot summer days helping him work, his eyes concealed behind photosensitive lens, a cigar slowing burning in his mouth. Its from him that I learned, implicitly (he never said it) that a job worth doing is worth doing well. There was no place for sloppy workmanship no matter what the chore. Stacking wood was done as methodically as building a roof or pouring a foundation.

So thanks Dad! The frustration I feel for poor workmanship, the time I spend trying to do the very best job I can and the know how to get the job done I owe, in large part to you.