Things my dad taught me...

Today is my father's 90th birthday and that seems as good a time as any to reflect on my forty-eight years with him and the many lessons that he has passed along to me. 

My father was born on a depression-era dirt farm in Terre Haute, Indiana in 1922. Like many, his family was poor and the bare necessities were, in and of themselves, luxury items. His one memorable "toy" was a wooden duck that his grandfather had carved for him and a Merry Christmas meant a stick of peppermint candy and possibly, an orange.

He was inducted into the army in 1942 and shipped out overseas to fight in the European Theater during WWII. He spent nearly three years fighting in Africa and Italy, serving in Patton's II Corps and later, as a member of the 5th Army. His service took him through the Po Valley, where he witnessed the bombing of the monastery at Monte Cassino.   He'd also witnessed the death of many of his friends and comrades. By war's end, he had earned five combat stars on his theater ribbon.

He met my mother in 1945 somewhere near Udine, Italy.  They were married in 1946 in Verona following his conversion to Catholicism. He returned to the states, went to work - first, in a foundry and then, in a steel mill, and started a family.  My sister was born in 1953.  I came along ten years later.  He and my mother are with me still.

My father was never much of a craftsman. He had a tendency to hurry through a job, needing to get it done and then moving on to the next thing on the list. That said, he was always doing something. What he lacked in skill and finesse, he more than made up for in his work ethic. My parents home was always in immaculate shape and nothing was allowed to remain in a state of disrepair for long. I still believe that my father could fix just about anything - perhaps not to specification or code - but certainly, to functionality, and occasionally, with awesome creativity.  I have seen things done with duct tape that would stupefy the brightest engineers and millwrights.

If there is one shop trait that I inherited from my father, it was his obsession with keeping his tools cleaned and oiled. Perhaps it was a hold-over from his depression-era upbringing that prompted him to take care of what he had - to make do and mend - to fix what he could instead of buying new. And, perhaps, that's why I keep dragging big hunks of rusted metal home with me and refurbishing them back to life.

My dad could never afford to buy top-of-the-line tools, but made do with off-brands and knock offs.  Still, every tool that came into his possession was treated like an investment. I acquired most of his tools when he and my mother gave up their home and moved into a nursing center a couple of years ago. I marveled at the lack of rust.  The majority of his power tools dated from the 1950's and 60's, but were all free of dents, frayed cords, paint splatters, built up saw dust and grime - in short, all of the ills that usually accompany tools that have seen much service over decades of use.

My dad  undoubtedly laid the foundation that causes me to bristle whenever I pull up an ad on Craigslist that lists some this or that as being in "good" condition, only to confronted by a photo of a barely distinguishable piece of rusty metal that looks like it might pass as a boat anchor.  If it's true that the craftsman cares for his tools, then my father, by at least one measure, could indeed be considered a craftsman.

So, in honor of your 90th birthday, Dad...thanks for instilling in me the self-confidence to tackle a project head-on and to trust in my own skills and abilities; to know that while hard work may make me as sore as hell, it likely won't kill me; and for helping me to understand that anyone, in their own way, can become a craftsman and create something that lasts beyond their short time among the living - including fond memories held by their children as they journey through their own lives.

Hopefully, someday, my daughter will have similar remembrances of her own father...minus the miracles with duct tape. So to boost my chances, I'm going to go out to the garage, find something to clean and think about my dad.
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Note:  It is with great sadness that I note the passing of my dad on April 1, 2016. Like many sons, I not only lost my father, but a role model, a supporter, and one of my best friends.  That said, I have a lifetime of good memories, thousands of life lessons and enough off-color jokes to keep me laughing until the end of my own time on this side of the divide.  Thanks, Dad...you are missed.