My father was a farmer with no tools.
Well, that’s not exactly accurate. Actually, he had LOTS of tools. Got them every Christmas. Shovels, and screwdrivers, special knives, and wrenches, and saws and pliers. An axe set with matching hatchet I picked out at Aubuchon Hardware for his birthday one year. Even disguised it in a big box so he couldn’t guess what was inside.
I’d seen garages with Craftsman Tools hanging in their assigned places like they were supposed to. And plenty of metal tool boxes with shining silver wrench sets piled inside. My father had a toolbox once, but the last time I saw it, it was filled with old rags and our tom cat was using it for a bed.
On one Fathers day, my mother and brother and I gave him five hammers. We figured it would be funny, and if we gave him enough, he’d always have a few handy. He could never lose all five. But after a few weeks it was the same ole’ wine. “Have you seen my hammer?”
We couldn’t understand what he did with ‘em. But at least for Dad, we never had to struggle thinking of a present.
Over the years I’ve often wondered what went on inside a man’s brain to make him act that way. He just never could find lost things. But I might be starting to realize something. Maybe he hadn’t really been trying. THINGS were just not that important to Dad. That’s why he never put everything away. Tomorrow or the next job would take care of itself. Maybe he was just living for today.
In today’s go-go, materialistic world, I suppose it might make sense to slow down and stop taking everything so seriously. Tomorrow will get here soon enough. I’m going to work on that.
But I’m going to do it prepared with an all in one screwdriver and Swiss army knife tucked under the sink.

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