My father-in-law and I had a great relationship, we laughed, talked sports and had our own inside jokes. The absolute pleasure of knowing him, of being family with him, was mine for 25 years before he passed away.
One time he was at my home installing some shelves in our spare bedroom. It was just the two of us and as I handed him the tools he needed while he was up on the ladder, we comfortably chatted.
“I owe you an apology,” he said, out of the blue.
I had no idea what he was talking about. “What do you mean?”
“I never had the patience to teach Mister Rain how to do things around the house. It’s my fault he’s not all that handy.”
I don’t remember my response but I’m sure I made light of it with him returning in kind. Yet this conversation never left me.
In the past few years we have renovated our home. Built in 1906, it needed a lot of love that we, unfortunately, didn’t give it for many years, with busy lives and careers. Our contractor, Tom, had spent his life in construction, now he was working on his own as he headed towards retirement. He could – and did – do everything from replacing our entire front porch to laying vinyl flooring, tile work, installing a new tub and shower surround, plumbing, electrical, brick and cement work. He had seen it all and even our house of 100+-year-old horrors, as I would refer to it to him, never made him flinch.
My husband helped with the projects, if he was not right in there with Tom, he was watching what Tom was doing. Since the extensive work has been completed, Mister Rain has been keeping up with the maintenance of things, amassing his own collection of Makita tools. A few weekends ago he painted our wood TV stand and put together a porch chair for me. As I worked at the dining room table, he sat on the floor nearby with instructions; a screwdriver along with piles of tiny screws sorted by size lie next to his leg.
“Your dad would be really proud,” I commented. “I don’t even know if he’d recognize you.” I said it seriously, but given his dad’s personality, I’m sure my husband detected a slight degree of humor, even if it wasn’t there.
Although it was not in my wedding vows, it probably should have been: My solemn promise to Mister Rain’s parents that he would never own nor operate power tools. It was all discussed in jest and yet . . . With some of the latest purchases, we are getting very close to crossing the level line. (How I know that it’s level is because my husband now has a laser level.) I believe that both of them (my mother-in-law is gone too) understand.
Oh, by the way, those shelves my dad-in-law put up in our spare bedroom? They’re slanted. You can’t put anything without a flat bottom on them because they’d roll right off. When we redid the house, we had the opportunity to fix them but it was never even a consideration to do so. They may be a bit crooked, but they are solid, just like him. And his son.
Maybe his dad didn’t show him how to shore up a sagging garage roof with rafters and trusses, but he gave him the tools to be a really good man. And make no mistake, measure twice and cut once, he was proud.
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