Angie:
Ladies, Let’s talk about Tools. And I don’ t mean nail or hair tools. We ladies need and want tools too!!! I dabbled into interior painting as a side gig for a while and a very dear friend who taught me all about painting gave me a set of PINK tools in a pink case. I LOVE those tools!!! She and I spent countless hours working late into the night talking about work, family, life and love. She is a wonderful woman I admired and learned a lot from. Not just about painting but about hard work, sacrifice and sticking with something till the end. I really miss our late-night talks. She had a laugh that would engulf a room which is great for me as I’m always auditioning my stand-up act. So far Comedy Central hasn’t called me but I still practice. LOL During these talks she would talk about her family and the great times they all had. I felt left out and couldn’t really relate because my family is a bit segmented. I will never forget what she told me. She said just because you don’t share the same blood doesn’t mean anyone you hold near could not be considered family. Family can be who you choose to let in your life. After about 5 years of working with her I moved away from that area and didn’t keep in touch. Every really funny but clean joke I hear I think she would love that joke. I imagine her boisterous laughter and the warm hug she would give me. Every Mother’s Day I think to myself I should send her a card to tell her how much her friendship meant to me and still does. She taught me to love whoever is in your life without reservation and to enjoy each second with them as no amount of time is guaranteed to any of us. Whenever I pick up one of those tools, I feel a warmth and comfort that only true friendship can bring.
Here’s another tool story: My Grandparents used to upholster furniture in a small Midwest town. They were so well-known folks would drive up to 2 or 3 hours to have my grandparents work on their furniture. Starting at age 7 I would fly up there for the summer and stay with them for about 6 weeks. This was back in the day when they put an unattended minor sign on me and let me roam the airports freely. I had to learn to tell time just so I could know when I had to be at the gate to board the plane. I had been in all the major airports from Denver to Atlanta by myself by the time I was 10 years old. I thought I was all grown up!! My Grandmother worked in the 5 and dime in town which was convenient because it was right next door to their house. I would stay with Grandpa during the day and watch him work. Of course, I would want to help so he would give me mundane tasks like pulling staples or tacks. As any little kid would, I got bored and wanted to play around with his tools. He had all kinds of tools. Metal and wood instruments of great amusement. Tire irons became microphones for my many sold out concerts, paint scrapers became cars and an old barber chair that still pumped up in the air became my own airplane to fly me anywhere I wanted to go. One tool in particular caught my eye one day that I will never forget. I guess I need to tell you a little back story. My Grandparents had a big fire at their house and lost pretty much everything. The town folk got together and gave them a bunch of stuff, furniture, linens, clothes and tools to help them get by. 10 years later my Grandpa still used those gifted tools in addition to newly bought tools better designed for their line of work. One of those moments of shear boredom centers around myself and my younger cousin. I’m not sure who’s idea it was, (probably mine although I’m sure I blamed him) I picked up a drill. Not a power drill, but one of those hand crank drills. Grandpa told me how he received that drill from someone in town after the fire. We, I, clamped a piece of scrap wood to one chair of a pair of old donated wooden chairs and I started drilling away. That drill was almost as big as me, but I kept spinning it around and around. Before I knew it, I could see the drill bit poke out from under the seat of the chair. I had accidentally drilled all the way through this chair. I immediately started crying because I knew I was gonna be in big trouble. Right about the time I was really whaling my Grandpa looked over thinking I had hurt myself or my cousin. I tried to hide what I had done, but it was no use. He saw it, he saw the big hole I put in the chair. I thought he was gonna spank me. After a stern look he couldn’t hold it in and started laughing. He had the softest blue eyes and even now almost 50 years later I can see him laughing. After the laughter subsided, fear set in. He said we needed to fix it before the boss (Grandma) came home. He hurried and cut a dowel and tried to glue in in place. What really made matters worse is that the chair was stained with a green stain so that bare dowel stuck out. He tried to find the same stain but not before Grandma got home. She of course scolded me and my cousin. She had a side eyed look as if she was about to laugh but Grandma was the boss in that house and I was afraid. I’m sure I cried thinking I disappointed them and that my grandparents wouldn’t love me anymore because I ruined a treasured antique. Later that night I heard the two of the chuckling about the whole incident. At first I was kinda mad that they were laughing about it but I also knew I hadn’t lost their love. After that incident at almost every family gathering when someone would sit in that chair one of them would tell that story to an audience who had heard it for years. When my Grandma passed away my cousin and I both got one of those chairs. I of course got the infamous chair. Now I have both of them and they are one of my most prized possessions. Whenever I feel that imperfection in that chair I think of the perfect love between a child and her grandparents.
While tools are typically thought of as instruments to make or fix things, they can be instruments to make memories. Memories that I will carry with me forever. Whenever I see one of those old crank drills in an antique store or junk pile, I’m taken back to that day. I see my Grandpa’s forgiving blue eyes, feel my Grandma’s hug and remember a day when life was simple A day when an old donated tool cemented love and a created a life time memory.
David:
I don’t know if y’all remember me mentioning this, but my dad was a home builder. From the time I was waist high I would get a treat and be allowed to go to the jobsite with him. I remember hot dusty days, constant hammering, the buzzing of saws and someone calling out measurements like an auctioneer. Measure twice, cut once I heard. As a kid I wasn’t allowed to touch anything, after all these were active jobsites. As I got older I was a “certified helper”. That means I got coffee and fetched things for people so they wouldn’t have to stop what they were doing. I thought I was really important with my junior tool belt but I was on a short leash. I say I had a toolbelt, really it was one of those cotton aprons from the lumber yard, but it counted to me. I could stick stuff in the pockets just like the big guys. After a few years of being the gopher I was given my own tape measure, allowed to measure things and be the auctioneer. He really liked me working for him because he could pay me a lot less than a skilled worker. Eventually I made it up to minimum wage. It was at that time I learned how to read a tape measure accurately after a few measure once cut several times mistakes. Dad made sure of that! Looking back now, I really enjoyed working on his job sites, spending quality time with my dad and all those TOOLS!!
My Dad would tell me how lucky I was to be in this new age of tools. When he first started everything was mostly done by hand. There were no battery operated or power drills or screw drivers. You grabbed a screwdriver and got arthritis in your wrist from turning the thing so much. There were no nail guns or impact drivers, you had to pick up a hammer and 16 penny nail and hope you hit the nail on the head or it would bend and you would have to pull it out and start over again. Looking back, I guess tools have really evolved even in my own lifetime. 10 years ago there were separate batteries for every thing and big bulky tools. Now there is one universal device with different heads for different jobs. Air compressors with attachments like a framing gun, finishing gun, drill and stapler replace in a 2 x 2 space what used to take up a whole cabinet. Other devices run on a battery that can almost fit in my pocket. Tradesman from the 50s and 60s had it rough compared to now-a-days. What used to take days of planning and plotting now take mere seconds to input numbers then a laser press cuts out ornate pieces of metal or wood. Modern tools have definitely made life easier for the professional builders and weekend contractors. Even Dads who can’t resist a daughter’s pleas and embark on building a back yard palace for an American Girl doll benefit from the advances. Oddly enough the doll and her “accessories sold separately” cost more than the tools and materials used to create her American Girl Mansion. It wasn’t all bad though because I was allowed to roam the aisles at the Home Improvement store with reckless abandon. Some would say those purchases were not necessary but they were for the dollhouse so……….any excuse to buy another tool. Bring on the projects!!! Sometimes she would go with me and we would have a Daddy/Daughter date. Why can’t they stay that young and easy to please. Not to mention relatively inexpensive. Have you priced Prom dresses lately? After the priority job of the dollhouse was completed I was allowed to indulge myself. I enlisted the help of my son and he and I built the best tool/work bench and has stood the test of time. It was around that work bench that my son and I had some of the same life conversations that I had with my own dad while on our way to the job sites. School, girls, cars, girls, football, girls. I am so very proud of the man my son has grown into and I would like to think those talks around that work bench that he and I built together contributed to his manhood. A workbench that was built with a few materials and every day tools. Not every household needs state of the art machinery, (no matter what he says) but every household needs tools. Whether it’s for the weekend contractor, shade tree mechanic or yard of the month enthusiast, we all need tools. We are not just building structures with these tools we are building the hopes and dreams of the next generation that follows in our footsteps.
When he retired my dad kept some of the essential tools he needed for crafts and DIY jobs my mom would hand out. After my dad passed I was allowed to take and keep some of his treasured tools. I may be able to buy a newer, shinier hammer but none will replace that hammer that my father held with his own two hands.