«

»

Jun 18 2018

Wisdom By TeraS

It was Father’s Day yesterday and I found myself thinking that I’ve talked about my relationship with my mom and haven’t really told a story about my Eternal’s relationship with his father. Today then, a story that has one foot in the Realm and another in Reality.

There are lessons we learn through our own experiences. There are lessons which are handed down from generation to generation. They become part of us, of who we are, and, put together, these become one’s …

 

Wisdom
By TeraS

 

The ratchet clicked slowly as a hand covered in grime worked away with purpose. It was always—always, mind you—the very last thing that needed to be tightened that was the biggest pain-in-the-ass to get done. From time to time, a bead of sweat formed upon his brow before running down the bridge of his nose and falling off into space. He thought that one particular nut had been started, that he’d finally gotten somewhere, when the tool wobbled, his hand shifted, and both his weapon of choice against his foe and the foe itself went clattering down and into the darkness beneath.

He remained there for a time, leaning against the cover that protected his work, gathering his thoughts. A deep breath was followed by blowing it out and considering what to do next. Oh it wasn’t a total disaster, not even close, but it was irritating that this was taking so long.

His thoughts turned towards lessons he’d learned so long ago, the time spent with his father, learning the how’s and why’s of things. Turning his hands over, he regarded them, noting that they weren’t as large, nor calloused, nor had they been used to make and create in the way he’d seen him do. But then he’d created in different ways, been able to construct, to build, to make a different sort of thing than what he’d been taught from before. The wisdom, in that knowledge, was in knowing that one’s own talents would be and what would come would.

That still didn’t mean, however, that he could walk away from things. Lessons learned.

If you put your mind to it, you’ll figure it out.

The memory was very old, one of the first, and he replied to himself: “Right, Dad.”

Pushing off, he stood up and looked around, considering his options. A wry smile came as he crouched down, positioning himself to get around the obstacles and retrieve the prize that had slipped out of his grasp. Shimming beneath, arm outstretched, his thoughts tickled over the first time he’d watched his father working, listening to the comments made about this and that, never raising his voice, never refusing a question, trying to pass on some wisdom that his son might hold onto.

His fingers brushed over the nut, drawing it out and setting it aside before going back to locate the ratchet and socket that had eluded him earlier. It took a bit longer, but they surrendered to his search in time. Rolling onto his back, he regarded the tools thoughtfully: simple things that to most would be ordinary, almost ignored, save for when they were needed. But these were part of his first tool set. Oh, that wasn’t much at the time, but they had been handed down from father to son, and in that came still more memories.

Right tool for the job isn’t always the one you expect.

The light outside reflected off the chrome handle as he considered it. It was a perfectly acceptable tool for the job. Whether it was the exact right one could be debated. His chuckle recalled the discussions over tools, machines, and other things that needed adjustment and fine tuning from time to time.

The job won’t finish itself.

Gathering up what he’d lost moments ago, his walk to the bench was accompanied by consideration of what he’d have done. The racket of the ratchet and nut seemed hollow on the metal table. Again, memories came of work benches covered in parts and pieces, tools and equipment, the sounds of his father’s realm coming back as he stood there in his own. His eyes roamed over the bench, picking out this tool or that, noting the things waiting to be picked up and brought to their purpose in whatever needed to be done. Like father, like son: walking away from a challenge simply wasn’t their way.

Holding the nut between two fingers, he came to a decision. The right tool was obvious. The job was going to be finished. With purpose, he leaned back into position, slipped the nut into its proper place, and got it snugged down far enough that one quick turn with the ratchet was enough to finish the job, and he’d figured it out himself. The hood had just been locked into position, and hands were being wiped on an old rag when the phone rang.

The number was familiar, and he smiled as he answered the call.

“Hey, Dad, how are you doing?”

1 comment

  1. avatar
    David

    Love that you are writing again. Enjoyed. ’nuff said.

Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *

You may use these HTML tags and attributes: <a href="" title=""> <abbr title=""> <acronym title=""> <b> <blockquote cite=""> <cite> <code> <del datetime=""> <em> <i> <q cite=""> <s> <strike> <strong>