they gave me a
Gilbert "Big Boy"
tool set.
It was clear to me
that they wanted me
to learn to use
the tools.
I did, and the learning
went on.
My father told me
all about saws
(Henry Disston was the "best"),
and even showed me how
you could make music
with a good one.
My father made music
with a ball-peen hammer,
and fed and clothed
us all-
As time went on,
he gave me a few tools
that he didn't need.
There was a wooden-handled
screwdriver that he had
ground too sharp
(I still have it, and use it
to spread glue on guitar bodies).
there were squares,
a machinist's guage,
a micrometer--
and some things that
you could only use
on a farm.
"Never sell your tools,"
my father said.
True to his word,
his children had to
sell his.
I've had these tools
for decades,
and they are like friends.
There is the claw hammer,
now worn out,
that I put a new
maple handle on
in 1987.
There are stories
connected with most
of them,
and on dark nights
we trade memories
around the workbench.
My father gave me things,
sometimes useless,
just to be giving me things,
and lots of good advice.
"Don't file brass,"
he said,
"it will dull your file."
I remembered everything
he told me.
"Never sell your tools,"
he said,
and he should know.
I tried not to,
but I finally had to let
the hog-ringers
go.
