Dad's Garage

Dad's Garage

Slowly I pull into the driveway of my parent's house. It's a raised ranch style on the other side of town. As I drive my old pickup up the driveway hill, I beep the horn to announce my arrival. I can hear their dog start to bark at my intrusion. I see her trying to clear the curtains away from the living room window of the second floor to try and get a better look.

After a few minutes the garage door opens. I pull the driver's side mirror in so I can fit through the opening. With the passenger side mirror open, I just squeeze in. It was always a pain getting that mirror back to the right place. I pull in so my door just passes the column holding a beam of the ceiling. The back tires are just inside the door. It's a nice day today so both doors will be staying open. The bright sunlight helps with light and temperature in the garage.

Ahead of the truck is the toolbox full of all the tools I would need for any job. Next to the workbench on the right, my father takes a seat on a steel stool. Here is another toolbox and a little of everything else. I can't remember that last time things were in order. But that's ok; we know what we have and where about it might be.

As I pop open the hood of the truck, I go over with my father what needs to be done to fix this problem. He's a retired mechanic and is there to advise me. Since I was a little kid and could read the numbers on the wrenches I've been helping him. Not being afraid of getting dirty also helped. Now I'm the one doing the work and he's helping me. It's been like that since I got this truck when I was seventeen, which has been for quite awhile.

After a little small talk it's time to get to work. The radio on the shelf is playing the local radio station. I pull the drop light down from the ceiling hook and dive under the hood. Once I see what I'll need, I grab the tools from the draws of the toolbox. Even though I don't use the tools everyday I can estimate pretty good the wrench sizes I need.

The job doesn't take too long. Taking off the part and replacing it with a new one. Finally everything is together and all the bolts tight. It's time to start it up; my father gives me a smile. I make my way back to the cab and hope. A few pumps of the gas peddle and a turn of the key, the engine fires up again. All the gauges are working and where they are supposed to be. It's nice when things work out.



I climb out of the truck again. Coming around to the front Dad tells me I did a good job. Now I just have to finish up. I check all the fluids and if any are low, I grab the bottle off the storage shelf. Then I check the tires. Grabbing the air hose off the hook on the wall, I plug it into the outlet in the pipe that runs along the ceiling beam. Then with everything double-checked, it's time to clean up.

Afterwards I meet dad at the back of the truck. Together we sit on the truck's tailgate. We talk some more about the job I did and anything else going on.

At Dad's garage we always seem to get things fixed one way or another. It might take a trip or two to the parts store, reading the repair manual or his experience, but we make it work. There has been only a time or two when he told me "I don't know."

After going upstairs to wash up I visit with my mother also. When it's time to leave I jump back into the truck. Slowly I back out of the garage. Once I'm out, the garage door closes. Dad's garage is closed for business again until the next time.