8/22/04 by oldestgenxer

Sometimes I get a little misty-eyed and introspective. Aside from my primary job at this restaraunt that I may be buying, I also work at Domino's Pizza part time. That, in itself, is worthy of a book, because I have worked there off and on for over 18 years.
But it does explain some of my recent behavior. Because I have been there so long, in every capacity including GM (general manager) several times over, I am at the point where I feel I can do anything I want. I shamelessly take advantage of this situation, and do things that no one else would ever conceive of do to do, like walk out with a stack of pizzas to feed my family. For free. And also what I have done this weekend and last weekend, which is the point of my melancholy.
I drive on Saturday dayshift, and these last few weekends the weather has been nice, and people have had yard sales. And people have had estate sales. Last week I stopped, while on the clock, and in uniform, at six sales. It was after I delivered the pizzas; I do have a sense of duty (minimumly). Two of these where estate sales, and yesterday, also, was an estate sale.
The estate sales made me sad. It was everything in the house and garage and sheds, all laid out on tables. The reality of it came over me slowly: The person had DIED, and all of there stuff was being sold. And, generally, it looks like old people, who have had a literal life time to collect things. My own mom and dad have been great collectors of things, and in fact, we had an auction one time, but we were all still alive. But mostly, at yard sales, one man's garbage is another man's garbage also. But at estate sales, it is everything, so there is all the good stuff, too.
Like all the tools.
At this one man's house, rows and rows of tables with all of his tools, of every possible variety, and also building supplies, the screws, nuts and bolts, and various fasteners that you just collect over a lifetime of building and home improvement projects. If a man's home truly is his castle, (and if not, what else is in this life?)then this is a fossil record, a glimpse at the history of one man's life, laid on in pieces on the tables, for sale at 50 cents a pop.
But my initial reaction remains, the one I shared with my wife, and the one I will share with you, is this:
Was there not a son, or a son-in-law, at least, to take the tools? There is a legacy there, and a story to tell, with each piece of cold metal, there is a story to warm the heart, of determination to finish job, of satisfaction, or learning and of teaching, and of being the protector and benefactor for the family. And that is not what the man is thinking at the time. At the time, it is simply a man, doing what he has to do, with tools.

In my own family, my Dad, my brother and sister and I, have on occassion discussed what is to become of my dad's stuff. He has some things of value, a gun collection, some antique cars. My dad has devised a system whereby we all take turns and pick a gun, so they all get distributed equally. My mom had determined, before she died, that my brother would get the old car (1939 Chevy coupe), however, not until Dad goes, I believe, will he give it up.
And there are other things too. But I have had the several months since my mom died to think about it all, and all I want are my dad's tools.
I'm sure they are valuable, but that's not the reason. Ever since I was old enough, like 10 or so, my dad has had me help him with the cars. And when I learned to drive, he really pressed on, to make sure I could do the basic things, and tried to get me to understand the importance thereof. As I got older, we did even more, working on my own cars, working on his, and spending time together. I am certainly no mechanic, and argueably not even mechanically inclined, but I have just about done it all, including changing an engine in my Jeep about 8 years ago. They mean something to me, and I believe it means something to him, also. I have an older stepson, who is a mechanic, and another son coming of driving age, and I want to pass the legacy on to them, and give them a sense of family history, but also, just to spend time with them, doing a guy thing, so they will pass it on to their boys.
Like the stories of days gone by. My dad has made his youth, and his dad, who I had never met, come alive with his stories. The 40's, 50's, and 60's are in color for me now, told with vibrant accuracy (although not necessarily the truth) by my dad. His friends, his jobs, how life was in that bygone age--in this post modern technology-ridden and information-overload age, the verbal hand-me-down is still relevant.
Go. Go to your elders, and hear the stories, and try to remember, and pass them on.
And look at your life, and try to see it through this pane of glass: What do YOU have, to pass on?