It's been nearly 28 years since my father passed away -- rather quickly -- and completely unexpectedly. Sometime after he died, I went to my computer and began to write. Several people read what I wrote and suggested I submit it to READERS DIGEST.
I did and spent nearly 6 months working with one of their editors to polish this into something that would work in their MY MOST MEMORABLE PERSON series. I didn't make the cut to get into the magazine, but the process of remembering, reflecting, and working to find just the right words and phrases that would tell the story helped me through one of the most difficult times of my life.
I hope you enjoy...
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DAD'S WORKBENCH
"Let me show you a little trick."
Mom's phone call startled me from the evening paper. After the exchange of routine pleasantries, she told me Dad had been to the doctor's for a physical. A chest X‑ray had revealed a small spot on his right lung. He'd be going to the hospital in a few days for more tests.
"I don't think it's anything to worry about," she said. But I knew differently. I asked to talk to Dad, but she said he was out puttering in the garage.
After I hung up, I mechanically picked up the paper again, but thoughts of my father kept intruding. We had a special relationship. He was always there for me -- whether it was showing me a "little trick" for fixing a broken toy or waiting in a three-hour gasoline line for me when I was home from college so I could have time to visit my girlfriend. Now, I couldn't help wondering what might be in store for him and remembering what he had meant to me over the years.
Dad, 61, was a retired Marine captain. Born Fritz Volz to poor German immigrants, he grew up on a Colorado farm and
had to rely on ingenuity for things that his parents couldn't provide. He made his own toys out of old wheels, tin cans and sticks. Like many people in small towns, he fantasized about traveling the world. When he was 17, he saw a poster for the U.S. Marines that became his ticket to a better life. He worked his way up from private to officer and won a Purple Heart at Iwo Jima. Mom and he were married right after the attack on Pearl Harbor.
The Marines moved us every few years, and each house required our own style of customization. But before work could begin, Dad first would have to build his workbench in the garage or basement. He needed a central place for carpentry and repairs. Some were just an open table, and others were more elaborate with cupboards and peg boards, but each was unique and stayed with the house when we moved.
D
ad had tools for every occasion and was tremendously well-stocked in hand and trick tools such as a special drill attachment that would put a hole exactly in the center of any circle. He used a set of discarded dental drill bits to shape and customize repair parts. He had every kind of screwdriver, hammer and pliers imaginable. He was a master at the impossible repair.
One of my favorite gadgets at the workbench was the "clip monster." It looked like a softball-sized spider with an alligator clip at the end of each leg. The clip monster could hold an object in any position for work, repair, or just to let the glue dry.
Another was the "glue box" -- actually an old shoe box. Aside from containing every kind of glue ever made since the dawn of time, The lid served a special purpose. Dad had taught me that you never apply the glue directly from the tube to an item. That's too sloppy. Instead, you put a little dab on the lid of the box and then apply the glue with a toothpick. Years of this practice had produced the most intriguing collection of dried glue on the lid.
There was always a large peg board...
Copyright c 1991 by Dennis Volz
It's a Good Life !
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