Daddy's Toolbox

I was rummaging around in our constantly messed up garage one day not too long ago. I never did find what I was looking for and have since forgotten what it was I was tearing the place apart to find.

What I did come across, in fact, I nearly tripped over it, was my dad's well worn grey toolbox. It was sitting on the floor in front of our workbench, where it had been for well over a year since my mother cleaned out her storage unit and stuffed the entire contents into our already overloaded garage!

I found a stool and sat down in front of the toolbox and undid the latches. I was instantly overcome with memories and thoughts of him! Every tool in the box seemed to have its own distinct memory attached to it. Daddy has been gone for a little over two years now, but that toolbox made it seem like it was only yesterday that he hauled it out of the trunk of his car or the back of his truck to fix something, usually my old worn out vehicle!

I sat in front of the toolbox and examined the contents one at a time. In the bottom were not one, but two ball peen hammers, a hack saw, and numerous open end wrenches. In the top several screwdrivers, pliers, a socket set, alan wrenches, vise grips, and various types of fuses and screws and nails all resided with two rolls of black electrical tape and the ever present tape measure. The usual roll of duct tape was conspicuously missing from the line up! There was also an air wrench attachment for the air compressor that my youngest sister hauled home for her husband. He hasn't missed it yet, he probably has never even turned the thing on.

That toolbox was what he did everyday of his life, it was the one toolbox that he always kept in tact, even after his so called retirement. We very obviously had different defenitions of the word! He worked up until the time his health forced the issue during a law mowing session in the back yard.

When I hold those tools, I can hear him saying, "get me that 3/8" socket or get the needle nose pliers from the bottom of the toolbox." I can hear him explaining the inner workings of a car engine or why you should always measure and measure again BEFORE you cut! He taught me so much, without realizing it, I believe. Daddy wasn't an educated man, life interruted that too, but he was intelligent and was wise to the ways of the world.

He was living proof that often common sense will do as much for you as a lot of education. He taught me that hard work wouldn't always get you where you wanted to be,but it sure beat the alternative. I can sleep at night and look myself in the eye in the morinings, knowing that I am the person he wanted me to be.

He taught me to use most of those tools and some that don't fit very well into a toolbox. Thanks to what he taught me I've never been worried about getting screwed on car repairs. I know enough to keep that from happening. Once a long time ago, he taught me how to use a miter box and saw. I used one to cut the moudling for our kitchen cabinets when we remodeled the kitchen. He was impressed that I had remembered how to use one.

I miss him and always will. There is comfort in the thought that he is in a better place and that he is also looking down and chuckling, every time I "borrow" a tool from his old grey toolbox.

I feel closer to him sittng in front of that toolbox than I ever will standing in front of some cold, hard government issue slab of stone.