Growing up I spent a lot of time with my dad. I have many wonderful memories from being turned loose with a friend in the unfinished basement with a coconut and the challenge to “crack it open”. We through and stomped and tortured that brown, hairy ball, but to no avail. My dad was my hero when he later returned to the basement with a drill and a straw, revealing coconut milk that was like magic.
We hunted for toads in the backyard, lit only by the moon’s white light. I remember being fearful of them, but with Dad’s assurance, I slowly eased into being able to “pet” a toad and by summer’s end, had toad’s in both hands and a couple in my pockets.
At night, while my sister fought with my mom over eating her vegetables, my dad could be found on at his homemade workbench. I’d climb up on the stool and marvel at the assortment of tools, asking repeatedly what each tool was for and how to use it. I was enchanted by the soldering tool and thought we should find more things to solder, just to watch the metal melt and plop on to the surface.
Among all those tool and all my memories, I still am fascinated by the baldor grinder. It’s like yesterday still as my memories see the sparks spew and seemingly explode in the air as my dad places the metal against the grinder to get a better “edge”.
Sometimes, I miss being a kiddo and those moments with my dad.