Remembering Dad

“No, that’s an adjustable wrench; I asked for the adjustable pipe wrench. Try again. It has a red handle.” I go back to the toolbox and pull out a large and a small adjustable pipe wrench and hold them out for my dad to choose from. Lesson learned at age 7. Over time, I picked up the names and uses for all the tools in the box. You see, my dad was a developer and home builder, and we lived on a farm. So, there was always something to be built or fixed. Helping him taught me the joy of building stuff and the importance of having the right tool for the job at hand.

Even though I’ve grown up and am now considered a “knowledge worker,” I still love to work with my hands. Because I don’t get to build physical things at work, in my free time I create projects. I build lists for house projects, yard projects, art projects, and sewing projects. I can’t go for very long after finishing a project, before I get the urge to start a new one. Building things with my hands fills me with joy that I can’t find anywhere else. It reminds me of the pleasure of building things with my dad, where he knew the perfect tool for each task.

The quest to find the right tools for each job is still important to me. It sometimes takes weeks of experimenting to find the right tool for the artistic effect I’m after. I’ve even resorted to creating my own tool when one can’t be found. My sewing basket has specific tools designed for specific jobs: fabric shears, embroidery and applique scissors, pinking shears, rotary cutters, a myriad of measurement tools, many types of needles, and, frankly, too many fasteners. When I get into the flow of sewing, whether sketching designs for a new quilt, hand stitching, or making my sewing machine hum, I leave all the stress of my life behind. The distractions of the world fall away. I love the feeling of my mind and spirit being completely absorbed in a singular passion.

When my dad passed away, my sisters and I helped clean out his closet. I was reminded of how he took pride in his appearance. He was a snappy dresser, even more so in retirement to Florida, where his clothing palette expanded from conservative colors and patterns to an explosion of tropical prints. Each item in his closet brought back even more memories. As we folded shirts to donate to charity, I pulled one out that I’d given him. I didn’t know what I would do with it, but I loved the memory of my dad in that shirt. Soon, I had a small stack. My sister, Carolyn, asked what I was going to do with the shirts I’d set aside. It struck me instantly: I was going to make a quilt!

It took me a year before I cut my Dad’s shirts into fabric for the quilt. I’m not sure if I needed that time to mourn, or to decide what kind of quilt to make. I bagged the fabric and stored the buttons in a jar, then began imagining the design. The quilt will be houses, like the ones my dad built: each one unique and constructed with care. I’ve hand cut each element and hand-appliqued each door and window in place. I am in the process of piecing the quilt top. Once it is quilted, I will embellish each front door with a button handle saved from one of the shirts. While a quilt won’t be a substantial monument to my dad like the subdivisions filled with families living in homes he built, it will be a warm, cuddly reminder of the life-lessons he taught me.

These lessons are ones that I hope to pass along to my children as well. While my children help me around the house and yard, I’ve shared the names of each tool we use as well as the satisfaction of completing a project with your own hands. I’ve given them a view of my sewing basket, where I’ve marked my scissors and shears with a bit of masking tape on the handles, to show that these tools are special - exclusively for fabric and thread. The time we spent sewing together – on everything from Halloween costumes to school projects – are filled with memories I hold dear.

I think, as a parent, you never know for sure what your kids learn from you. I hope, if there is a heaven, Dad is looking down and smiling to know that his lessons have stuck with me, especially the joy of working with your hands and the power of a proper tool. And I hope he is doubly pleased that I’m passing along these lessons to his grandkids.