My Dad

When I was a kid my dad drove a beat up old Datsun pickup truck, green, with a camper shell.  It was a 1971.  I only remember that because that was the year my parents were married.  But they didn't buy that truck new.  He bought it in '73, I think.  My dad drove that truck until close to 1990 if not just passed that point.  My brother and I traveled cross country more times than I can remember in the back of that truck with a camper shell on it.  When it came time to retire the pickup, did he take it to the junk yard? Sell it for parts?  Nope, my dad had the cab lopped off and turned the bed into a trailer.

The lawn mower he had when I was growing up never had the switch to turn it on - well at least I never remember it having an actual switch.  You had to turn the teeny, tiny switch down by the motor before you would yank on that cord as hard as you could praying it would turn over so you could mow the lawn for $5 a week.  Hey, that was a lot of money back then! Despite the sore shoulder the next day.  You could also feel your teeth chatter every time you touched the handle.  I never once thought, "hey dad, ever think of buying a new one?"

He brought me home my very first bike the summer before 3rd grade.  I was so thankful to finally have my own bike that I didn't care that it was rusted with a big crack in the banana seat and it didn't sparkle and shine like my bestest friends' bikes did.  It was mine.

My dad never threw anything away.  Heck he still doesn't.  It's something I wish I had the organization or the know-how to save old parts of something only to need a certain part of something totally different a few years down the line.  You could see the light bulb go off above his head, "I think I have that old one from XX.  Let me go find it!"  And he would.  And it would work.

My dad always taught me that you used something until it didn't work anymore...and then you saved the parts.  You didn't throw something away just because you were tired of it or it didn't work perfectly.  If it worked, it worked.  You still used it.  He's one of the original recyclers, before it was cool.

This afternoon I was over at my parents' house cleaning out their fridge.  (They are out of town and I didn't want to come over one day and smell rotten broccoli or something else just as hideous as I did a couple of years ago.)  My dad has been building a playhouse for the grandkids in their backyard.  It's not finished yet, but it will be soon.  Their backyard has a lot of trees and it's October.  Sweet Pea decided she needed to rake up some of the leaves with a leaf rake that was leaning on the side of the house.  I decided to help her and spotted a rake over by his log splitting area.  As I pick it up, I notice something.

It's a blurry cell phone picture, but do you notice something?

No?

The head of the rake is being held on by some green, heavy-duty, plastic-encased twine wrapped around a screw on the handle of the rake and tied onto the tines of the rake.  

Because the handle came loose and fell off.  

And even though a decent rake isn't that much money and he's got the money to buy a new one, he didn't just trash it. 

He fixed it.  

I'm still learning from my dad.  

He's a pretty smart guy.

Linking up with Elaine (on 10/2/11)