Braincase
09-08-2005, 08:22 AM
A few weeks ago I started looking around at my bench, the various files, drill bits, screw drivers and wrenches laying about and decided I better do a little bit of organizing. As I started shopping around for big toolboxes, I thought I'd ask my dad if he had any old toolboxes. My dad, like my grandfather before him, was a mechanic, a service manager, and a hot rod nut.
I look at my dad's garage with awe. His shop at home is immaculate, the kind of shop you'd expect to see on "American Chopper" - white walls, no oil stains on the floor. But it has that smell - oil, diesel & gasoline, with just a hint of sawdust.
I ask my dad about the toolbox situation and he has one he really doesn't use, but I noticed something in his eye when he said it. We jumped in the pickup and headed out to the outbuilding out back at my folks place, the same outbuilding he uses to store a '51 Dodge Wayfarer, a couple of old Studebaker two-seaters, and other projects.
We go over to the his bech and he grabs this old steel toolbox, and I know why he wants me to have this one. On top, painted in the fashion old truck drivers would have their names painted on the cab, is a simple name, two letters - "Al".
My dad was giving me my grandfather's old toolbox. Heavy steel thing, rusty, dinged up. Every year of use visible on the exterior with the dings and dents, scratches and a bead dropped here and there to fix a crack.
I've brought the toolbox back to my place, and I've grabbed my dremel and some solvent, sanded off most of the rust and the paint. Today, I'll finish up the cleaning before I paint it. I'll tape off the what-was-once-chrome hinges so I can paint those with a silver paint later. I've taped off the old Snap-On tools logo on the front. I'll paint the letters on that black with a white outline by hand.
I taped off my grandfather's name, too. That will remain as it was. You see, my middle name is Alan. Same name as my grandfather. He never went by his first name, he was always Al.
When I'm done, I'll drop that engraving bit on the dremel, and on the back I'll add Francis Alan R******, and the dates of his life. He was born in 1899, died in 1983, the same summer I found out I had cancer. I'll add a line for my dad, a line for myself. Lastly, I'll add my son's name.
I'm fixing up your old toolbox grampa. I'm going to do it right.
As the dremel bit sands out the rust and the dirt pockets, I hit that old black gunk in the corners and the dust goes into the air in the garage. And there it is... that smell. The diesel and dust, oil and rust.
My garage now smells like my dad's garage, my grampa's garage. I guess that smell and those memories are the last gift he's given me.
Thanks grampa.
I look at my dad's garage with awe. His shop at home is immaculate, the kind of shop you'd expect to see on "American Chopper" - white walls, no oil stains on the floor. But it has that smell - oil, diesel & gasoline, with just a hint of sawdust.
I ask my dad about the toolbox situation and he has one he really doesn't use, but I noticed something in his eye when he said it. We jumped in the pickup and headed out to the outbuilding out back at my folks place, the same outbuilding he uses to store a '51 Dodge Wayfarer, a couple of old Studebaker two-seaters, and other projects.
We go over to the his bech and he grabs this old steel toolbox, and I know why he wants me to have this one. On top, painted in the fashion old truck drivers would have their names painted on the cab, is a simple name, two letters - "Al".
My dad was giving me my grandfather's old toolbox. Heavy steel thing, rusty, dinged up. Every year of use visible on the exterior with the dings and dents, scratches and a bead dropped here and there to fix a crack.
I've brought the toolbox back to my place, and I've grabbed my dremel and some solvent, sanded off most of the rust and the paint. Today, I'll finish up the cleaning before I paint it. I'll tape off the what-was-once-chrome hinges so I can paint those with a silver paint later. I've taped off the old Snap-On tools logo on the front. I'll paint the letters on that black with a white outline by hand.
I taped off my grandfather's name, too. That will remain as it was. You see, my middle name is Alan. Same name as my grandfather. He never went by his first name, he was always Al.
When I'm done, I'll drop that engraving bit on the dremel, and on the back I'll add Francis Alan R******, and the dates of his life. He was born in 1899, died in 1983, the same summer I found out I had cancer. I'll add a line for my dad, a line for myself. Lastly, I'll add my son's name.
I'm fixing up your old toolbox grampa. I'm going to do it right.
As the dremel bit sands out the rust and the dirt pockets, I hit that old black gunk in the corners and the dust goes into the air in the garage. And there it is... that smell. The diesel and dust, oil and rust.
My garage now smells like my dad's garage, my grampa's garage. I guess that smell and those memories are the last gift he's given me.
Thanks grampa.