When I was a little girl I spent hours and hours in my dad’s basement workshop. He still to this day, in his late 80’s makes custom golf clubs and repairs and refinishes vintage wood golf clubs for friends.
In that basement my dad taught me how to build fires in our little wood stove that would warm our stone basement over cold Michigan winters. He taught me how to split wood to make kindling. He taught how to use a vice grip and a drill press. How to varnish wood, solder metals and how to hold your hands steady while you did. I know I drove him crazy, especially when I stirred up dust and ruined a newly refinished golf club, but he never kicked me out, never shooed me away. All I cared about was spending time with him and I am pretty sure he felt the same way about me.
Now that I have this little corner bench space in my under-renovation basement I feel so close to him despite covid keeping us apart. I literally will find myself picking up a tool and hearing his voice instruct me when I do. “Hold it carefully, don’t turn too hard or too fast. Don’t force the metal, flow your strength through it.”
All those years ago, I never would have imagined that I would be using every single one of the skills he taught me with such patience and kindness on my own hobby, my own craft.
Thank you Dad for not kicking this little Tomboy out of your workshop and helping me to appreciate all things slow made.
Cluttered Little Workbench
Posted by Sheryl Maloney on
