Grandpas shop

 As a young kid, I loved tinkering in my grandpa's garage. Everywhere you looked, there were tools of all kinds, glass jars filled with nuts and bolts, and an assortment of odds and ends he had accumulated over the years. I soon learned that everything had its place, and he seemed to know instinctively where everything was located. Grandma said it was his sanctuary, and she could count on one hand the number of times she had entered it. My dad's garage had some nice tools, but they were new and shiny, and some had never even made it out of the box.

Grandpa's tools were mostly made of wood, which he shaped by hand; each one was a labor of love. He did purchase the axe heads and saw blades, but probably would have made them if he had a forge. I loved the smell of his shop, a mix of fresh-cut wood and cigar smoke. During the cold months, he would build a fire in an old stove he had found, keeping the garage warm and cozy as he taught me how to carve handles for hammers or make screwdrivers, which required patience that I sometimes struggled to maintain.

As time passed, my skills improved to the point where he entrusted me with restoring the wooden Christmas figures he had made long ago, which were in need of some care and attention. One by one, I hand-sanded the reindeer and sleigh to achieve a smooth finish, then repainted them in their original colors. I gave my undivided attention to detail for the angels, the lambs, the wise men, and both Mary and Joseph. However, my most challenging task was reconstructing the manger that had somehow been crushed. I had to build a new one from scratch. Once completed, Grandpa looked it over and smiled, sharing a moment of approval from teacher to student.

Grandpa passed away a few years later, leaving everything in his shop to me. I would go there almost every day, fixing or building something new, all with the tools he had made. When Grandma left us, I bought the house and continued to work in the shop, teaching kids the trade I had learned. While some called it a lost art, I saw it differently. I witnessed lost kids transforming into artisans seeking ways to express themselves. Grandpa would be proud. 

Mike, 2025