He found a use for everything
I spent part of a recent Saturday afternoon in a small, storage shed, surrounded by oil cans, wire, cardboard sleeves, spark plugs, nails, batteries, boxes and bulbs.
My brother and I began the process of cleaning out the utility room at our parents' house. We have been planning to do this since our father died almost three months ago.
In his final days, he instructed us to divide up the tools and other items he kept out there.
We knew about the assortment of socket wrenches and hoes. Dad loved to tinker and piddle and run his fingers in the dirt. He was always in his element out in the shed.
But there was so much more than that in the dark room, brightened only by a 100-watt bulb in the corner.
Dad saved everything. He never met a lug nut he didn’t like. He recycled wood, wire and widgets. He figured everything had another use. Again and again. No matter what condition it was in, there was still tread on the tires.
We found things he had carried with him through most of his adult life. We found stuff he probably didn’t even know he had. But, if he did need it, he had it.
If he could find it.
In an rusty tin can in a dark corner of the room I found a bicycle tire repair kit. My father didn’t have a bicycle. I don’t think I ever saw him ride one. He was prepared if he ever did, though.
“What’s this?” my brother and I caught ourselves saying to each other over and over. “Why do you think he saved this?”
We laughed. And remembered. And wiped a few tears.
“I’ll tell you why,’’ I finally said. “It was his generation. They didn’t throw anything away because they never had much. He was a child of the Great Depression. They could always use that strand of rope some other day.''
So we felt a bit guilty filling up a couple of trash cans outside the door.
“I bet he’s looking down on us right now, saying: ‘No! No! Don’t throw that away!!!’ ’’ I said.
Some people would look at my father’s shed and call him a packrat.
I would call him resourceful. He didn’t discard; he recycled.
In this disposable society we live in, that’s saying something.
There’s a lesson in that for all of us.
My brother and I began the process of cleaning out the utility room at our parents' house. We have been planning to do this since our father died almost three months ago.
In his final days, he instructed us to divide up the tools and other items he kept out there.
We knew about the assortment of socket wrenches and hoes. Dad loved to tinker and piddle and run his fingers in the dirt. He was always in his element out in the shed.
But there was so much more than that in the dark room, brightened only by a 100-watt bulb in the corner.
Dad saved everything. He never met a lug nut he didn’t like. He recycled wood, wire and widgets. He figured everything had another use. Again and again. No matter what condition it was in, there was still tread on the tires.
We found things he had carried with him through most of his adult life. We found stuff he probably didn’t even know he had. But, if he did need it, he had it.
If he could find it.
In an rusty tin can in a dark corner of the room I found a bicycle tire repair kit. My father didn’t have a bicycle. I don’t think I ever saw him ride one. He was prepared if he ever did, though.
“What’s this?” my brother and I caught ourselves saying to each other over and over. “Why do you think he saved this?”
We laughed. And remembered. And wiped a few tears.
“I’ll tell you why,’’ I finally said. “It was his generation. They didn’t throw anything away because they never had much. He was a child of the Great Depression. They could always use that strand of rope some other day.''
So we felt a bit guilty filling up a couple of trash cans outside the door.
“I bet he’s looking down on us right now, saying: ‘No! No! Don’t throw that away!!!’ ’’ I said.
Some people would look at my father’s shed and call him a packrat.
I would call him resourceful. He didn’t discard; he recycled.
In this disposable society we live in, that’s saying something.
There’s a lesson in that for all of us.
posted by Ed Grisamore at 6:15 AM
2 Comments:
Ed,
Great column. My dad was the same way. After he died, it took my mother, brother and I a year to clean and organize his shed. Many laughs and tears were had by all. Keep up the good work!
Having lived 79 years, I can identify with your dad's having saved what he did. I've even voiced to my children that they're going to repeat that phrase when they have to clear out my house, "Now, WHY would she have saved THIS?"
And I hate to waste anything, though I know I do.
I really can't get over the wonder that our Creator/Redeemer/Sustainer permitted me to be born in the USA with so many possibilities available to any who will take them. I do know that by the standards of a majority of the world's population that I am not only rich, I'm *filthy* rich.
I received a hand-up when I was young. Now I have the privilege of extending a hand to some others.
It's a great column, as usual, Ed
Hugh's mother-in-law
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