The Things of The Father
A few evenings ago, I spent some time cleaning and sorting,
one by one, a numerous collection of ceramic letters I found at a garage sale.
This was another reminder of how I have, over the years, become like my father.
My dad spent the beginning and the end of his career working with moveable
type, patiently building text letter by letter. From tiny 6pt metal characters
to large wooden headline letters, these were the items of his craft, filling
countless wood-partitioned drawers in our basement, where he spent hours after
his retirement tinkering.
And I, too, have become a tinkerer, finding greater pleasure
in doing something myself, rather than having it done. And in this, often using
skills taught to me by my father many years ago. Changing a tire, working with
wood, barbecuing a burger, common tasks that I can do with greater interest and
efficiency because of long ago learned lessons.
Like my father, I appreciate order and precision. Like my
father, I’m a helper, which is probably why I’ve ended up in teaching. Like my
father, I enjoy humour, and crafting words to create it. Like my father, I take
care of my stuff, and my stuff lasts a long time.
Beyond genetic information, which includes a less than
dominating stature and a more than slightly receding hairline, these are some
of the things that make me who I really am.
Unfortunately, it is human nature to fully appreciate things
only after they’re gone. In this manner, I am appreciating gifts long ago
given, from a man now gone. And it is my hope that I too, am able to pass on
some things of their father to my own sons.
