Today I had a wonderful moment and probably one of the best gifts I've ever received. I'm writing this on the down swing of a very long 7 months. Pulling double duty with a day gig then the shop on the Born Free bike, tack on the little one, I find myself, at times, vulnerable. Little sleep and lots of work will do that to a man. But its all a good tired. A good tired is knowing you are pushing yourself and heading for something good. At times, things get really hard, but you don't stop, you push on. Every once in while those "good" people around you throw in some encouragement, or a helping hand that just warms the heart and reassures you're faith in your fellow man.
As most that know me understand, I had a respect and deep bond with my father. Without digging up family drama, shortly after he passed some members of my family swooped in and gobbled up his things. Sadly, my father wasn't one to "believe" in insurance or a will, so a proper division of his things never happened, at least I wasn't involved. None of this is about money, my father left very little. At one point in my life my now wife said to me " You know, you talk about your Dad everyday." That never occured to me before and it really hit me. While his memory and lessons live on, I realized, I had nothing of my fathers, nothing. No pictures, no old books, no car parts, nothing. It made me very sad. So, I contacted those that had some of his things and sadly I was met with drama and I never received anything other than a few poor photo copies of pictures. I probably acted out in some manner that didn't help, but I still felt it just wasn't right. This was some 6 years ago or more.
Some may not understand, but for me it was important to have something, anything of my fathers, and old sock for Christ sake, I didn't care. I wanted to be able to tell his grandchild one day, "This was your grandfathers, and then tell her about him. Long story short, over some time, other siblings sent me a few pictures and that really meant a lot. But what I got today from my big brother made my year.
These are some of my Dads old tools. I knew right away who's they were. Oddly, once I opened the box I remembered the hammer and screwdriver. Maybe it's my mind playing tricks, cause my Dad had a lot of tools, but the hammer is so vivid in my mind. Him swinging on the old cars or something. Of course, it made me emotional. I think this is why I love old things in part, they have a story, a past, history. The wood handle on that hammer is soaked in my Dads sweat, grease and dirt. These things are just tools that have little to no monatary value, but knowing my father used these to fix things has a deep meaning to me. Now I can say, "This was my Dad's".
It's an odd thing how we put such emotional value on inanimate things, and of course some do more than others, so much so it is unhealthy. But I think that this ability is something that makes us uniquely human. Some families pass on wealth, some pass on cars, well, I've got a few tools, but to me they are worth more than any other material thing I own.
Now I am not one to believe in spirits or after life or any of that other mumbo jumbo, and neither did my Dad, but what happen next made me smile and laugh. After a few moments with my wife and daughter they left the shop. Before she left I asked her to take a few pics to send my brother. I turned off the radio and grabbed the screw driver and twisted the last few screws on my kidney cover. The shop was as quiet as a church. I have a number of gas tanks hanging above me. Just at that moment the wind blew in the shop and two tanks softly banged up against each other ringing like deep wind chimes. I looked up and laughed.
Happy Fathers Day Dad, wherever you are.
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