When I set up my garage workshop, I bought an assemble-it-yourself workbench from Home Depot, and then proceeded to pile shit on top of it and on the floor around it to be organized someday.
Someday was today.
The task was complicated by the unexpected acquisition a bunch of my dad’s tools and stuff.
It was only a year after his death that I brought all of this equipment home.
I’ve been hesitant to use or even commingle my father’s sentimental tools with my own. I finally did it.
It wasn’t just tools.
You see that white thing on the surface of the workbench, on the left side? That’s a step stool my dad made when I was two or three years old.
I was potty training. He made that step stool for me so I could stand in front of the toilet and clear the rim.
He explained, “You pull down your pants. Then you stand here. And then you go potty.”
And I asked, “Does the poo poo just fall on the floor?”
My dad loved to tell that story.
The step stool has persisted over the years as a small shelf, or a small pedestal for plants. It has probably been painted several times. I’m not sure what use I will make of it, other than an excuse to tell that story any chance I get.