People appreciate their fathers for many reasons. So do I.
The first time I shingled a roof, the tools my dad handed me were not air-powered or pneumatic. He gave me a hammer and nails. By the time we finished that roughly 800 square foot roof, I had a pretty decent grasp of both the hammer and how to swing it.
Then around the age of 14 or 15, my dad conveyed appreciation for the excursions I had taken with Teen Mania Ministries, but he made it clear that summers were also a good opportunity to learn some work ethic. I began working for carpenters when I was 14 or 15 years old and sporadically continued to wear work boots until I was 22.
My dad has this saying, “Do the next thing and the right thing.” He is quick to acknowledge that it can be terribly difficult to determine what the right thing is sometimes, but the man upstairs is aware, and that is sufficient. When my dad was teaching me dry walling techniques with a putty knife and mud hawk, the “next” thing I did was not always the right thing. I found myself redoing my work, fixing air bubbles, and sanding, sanding, sanding.
If given enough time, I can build stairs. If given a saw, I’ll cut a hole in the side of the house to access the attic. If given green paint, I might just toss it. We spent too many years in a peeling green house with 100 year-old wood siding that barely held on to the green. Then dad taught me how to side a house.
Where would I be without my dad?