Reaching Grandpa-dom this year was a real highlight! After nearly thirty years of raising kids (hey, one is still at home), it’s good to relax and watch the offspring take their turn at the impossible. Grey hair arrived well in advance of the first grandchild. For some, this is disconcerting. Overcoming it requires all manner of vanity. It is better to acquiesce to the phases of life and accept old fogey-dom before the segue into grandperson-dom.
There is something victorious in reaching older age that is both enigmatic and murky to the young. The elder appreciate the difficulty of life and do not often faint when affliction visits. Perhaps it is due to nearness of the afterlife. Or the challenge of the Garage.
Ah, the Garage. For Grandpas – at least those without a real outdoor shop – it is the Garage that taunts, tempts and tries the true Grandpa. If not used to collect old toys, bent golf clubs, disabled bicycles, stained kimchi jars and obsolete computer peripherals, then it must be the domain of the amateur mechanic and Norm Abrams New Yankee Workshop wannabe. This is my Plight.
In younger days, the garage was the place where brakes were fixed – usually in the bitter cold of winter. Or, for the daring, the cracked engine valve head was removed, toted to the machine shop and bravely reinstalled once engine block sludge was removed. Some cursing occurred. Tools were required. Thus, the Garage is crucial to any family economy.
The Garage is the corral of a herd of woodworking tools. Some were collected as Father’s Day gifts. Others were purchased at Sears for the promised – and still unfinished – Mother’s Day spice rack. Many were acquired much like lost strays were added to the family. And it is those old, carefully maintained tools that give the Garage its charm.
The new Grandpa is acquainted with only one power tool – a good TV remote. But, once kids leave the nest, a garage bay opens and grand-kids arrive, the Garage begins its siren song. Capitulation begins with some kind of power saw – preferably a table saw, then the drill press and scroll saw are uncovered, a router or shaper is added and hand tools begin to gather. Like great clouds of gas and dust swirl and mix to form a star, such a cluster of tools carry Grandpa to the brink of great Creative Power.
The end of the story is distant. Years of labor with the aim of raising a family eventually give way to the mission of the Grandpa. The pressures of a job, family and a mortgage leave many a pitiful shell suitable only for watching endless hours of baseball, basketball and football. This condition led prehistoric man to invent croquet, the hammock and retirement.
But the Power wielded by the Grandpa exceeds that of the Planets, the statist Politician and the Pope. Planets like Pluto are downgraded. Politicians enslave millions but eventually die and perish in Hades. The Pope pontificates endlessly. But a Grandpa with Power Tools is like God at the Creation. Wood is collected, planed, jointed, ripped, crosscut and assembled into everlasting works of art useful for some Purpose.
And here is where life began.