My Dad

As I think about what defines you as a father, maybe even as a person, my first and lasting impression is tools. I have always been able to tell when you've been working. Whether it's the sawdust on your clothes, the grease on your hands, or the lingering smell of burning hair, this is how you exist in my memories. Your toolbox has become a manifestation of you as a whole, and each item inside a portion of what you mean to me.
First, your astounding variety of nails, screws, bolts, nuts, washers, and other small bits of hardware which I can't name. You are prepared for every situation, with the pieces that hold everything together. Whether it's a light finishing nail to hang a picture, or a heavy framing screw to stabilize a wall, you have something for every need. Likewise, you have come up with the small things that help me every day. From straightening my license plate to cleaning my shower, fixing breakfast to fixing my brakes, you do a variety of small things that keep life running smoothly.
Maybe it's on your belt rather than in your toolbox, but next comes your pliers and screwdriver in their holster. That pouch has been replaced more times than I can remember, which is how I always knew that a good screwdriver must be essential to life. After all, it wouldn't have pushed its way through if it just quietly rode along on your hip! Just as you have kept your most useful and practical tools by your side for decades, you have kept me close to you, where you could teach and protect me.
Speaking of screwdrivers, they really are the most critical part of a toolkit, aren't they? Most of yours are interchangeable, able to be fitted with phillips or flat or star, big or small. With this adaptability, one tool serves so many purposes. So it is with you. You are of course the protector, the mechanic, and the answer man. But you are also the spider executioner, the dutch oven culinarian, the iron wielder, the bathroom purifier, the human alarm clock, and of course the best shoulder kneading system in the world. You are the screwdriver with many heads, different shapes and sizes, able to adapt to whatever role is required of you.
Then there are all your specialty odd-ball tools. You are the stud-finder, seeking that portion of life that provides stability and dependability. The dremel has nothing on you, for you leave your mark without harm. The power drill achieves its task with speed and ease, usually doing it right the first time. Allen wrenches appear to be limited in their usefulness, but like you, they save the day when you least expect it. An awl looks sharp and dangerous and cantankerous, but with proper and careful manipulation, it actually serves to make life easier. Your level tells you the truth when your eyes may deceive you, providing a reliable measure of balance. And what would a tool of yours be without the characteristic initials in sparkly blue nail polish, claiming at once "I know who I am" and "I give little thought to what the world might think." Who knew that seeing BJF in a color only a 14-year-old girl would wear would teach me a lesson in independence and self-assurance?
Of course, I saved the best for last. What would a Fugal toolbox be without a hammer? Not just any hammer. A 22 ounce red-handled framing hammer, with a small chip in the fiberglass. This has been a staple in our family, as it has finished basements, built dance sets, assembled props for girls camp, hung pictures, built furniture to survive the apocalypse, and applied holiday decorations to eaves and roofs. And while you were hammering away with said red-handled framing hammer, you were creating a lifetime of memories, supporting the interests and endeavors of your family, providing places for us to enjoy life and to rest when the day was done.

And now you have distributed your tools to your children. The boys not only weld and transform metal to create other tools, they weld their story with ours and leave their mark on our history. Your daughters do not simply drill and hammer and saw, but we continue to build the lives you began. A little bit of you exists in each of your tools, and as they are used to complete new projects they lend a little of you to everything they create. These are not just tools, Papa Bear. They are your legacy.

Yes I stole this one from my sister also. The boys, as we call them, may not be biologically my dad's, but that doesn't matter. They are his and he is theirs.