saturday Trips

One of my favorite memories from childhood is Saturday mornings. My dad would wake me up and leave the younger siblings in bed. We’d head to the hardware store to gather supplies for the day’s project. I never knew what the project was before we left but it didn’t matter. It was just me and him and that’s all that mattered.

Saturday trips were when he passed down words of wisdom like, “close only matters in horseshoes and hand grenades.” (That was the weekend we built a proper horseshoe pit in the backyard.) What little I know about “fixing” things, I learned on those Saturdays…

In hindsight, I must have been mechanically challenged because I also remember these words of wisdom, “if you can’t fix it with electrical tape, you need to call somebody.”

Time Tinkers On

My dad loved to tinker, he learned to fix things from his dad and he taught me. Tinkering was a comfort, a hobby. Eventually, those Saturday projects ended, Dad’s love for tinkering remained—even after the move to the memory care unit.

He tried multiple times to “fix” the lamps. With wires hanging out and pieces missing (three lamps later) I learned to quit putting a new lamp in the room.

The table was upside down with no legs. Dad’s fingers were blistered from turning the wing nuts by hand, with no tools. With pride, he watched me put it back together when he couldn’t.

I finally replaced the wing nuts on that old table with “spare parts”. Ironically, I found four nuts in a box of odds and ends my dad started for me when we bought our first house. He told me to keep that box and always put the leftover parts from projects there. That box came in handy- I finally fixed that table.

I mean…Everybody has a box of leftover parts right?

Lessons learned & electrical Tape

I wonder which he enjoyed more; taking the table apart, watching me fix it, or the time we spent together.If I had to guess, he enjoyed our time together most. I know I’m thankful—not just for the lessons I learned on those Saturdays, but even more for the memories we made.

“Do you think if your dad understood you were using the skills he taught you to “outsmart” him, he would be mad?”

I don’t think so. I think he would be proud that I used what I already had to “fix” a problem. Not just a broken table, but maybe even the quiet heartbreak of our roles reversing. Maybe that was the lesson…I will just keep taking this table apart until she finds a way to fix it for good.

He doesn’t take too many things apart anymore. The comfort of tinkering is fading… but every so often there is a loose part on his wheelchair. I’m reminded—and comforted—knowing my dad is still in there, behind the fog of confusion, still trying to teach me things. As his memory fades, our connection grows stronger and his words of wisdom are still with me.

It’s a good thing I have plenty of electrical tape!