One of my memories of my dad - he worked in the garage set up as a workshop. Always in his leather jacket , spattered with paint, his hat, and always whistling. He was especially good at whistling- but it drove my mom crazy. He also sang in a rich voice- but always Army songs or German children's songs.
About 6 years ago, my dad went into the hospital with pneumonia. My stepmother decided it was time to clean out his workshop because, "He would never use it again." She wanted the space for her sewing business I think. I objected, but knew that if I didn't take what was important to me, it would go to Goodwill or to one of my stepbrothers, who I don't think would appreciate the sentiment.
One of the things in the workshop was a huge worktable, with an old vice . I wanted it, but it was too big for my space. With great effort, my brother Eric cut it out of the table for me. My dad came out of the hospital and was furious that his workshop was gone.
The vice sat for at least 5 years, but this year, a friend surprised me with a gift- dad's vice set into a brand new worktable. It is still usable but is also protected .
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