You’d think that if you sat down to write something about one of the two people who has known you for longer than anyone else on the planet that the words would flow freely from the keyboard, yet I’ve prevaricated most of the day about what to say here. Dammit, I’ve even removed and washed the glass covers on the bathroom downlights as busy-work to disguise my lack of inspiration.
It’s Fathers Day, I made my Dad a box.
What did he make me?
Well beyond the obvious biological facts, he allowed me to make myself. As a parent myself now I realise that the skill to allow your offspring enough latitude to become their own person with enough guidance to give them a framework to make the right choices is an incredibly fine balance. When you’re young and arrogant you think you are ploughing your own furrow and its only when you’re trying to guide the plough for someone else that you realise the same was once done for you.
My Dad wouldn’t know how to make this box. He doesn’t know how to cut dovetails. He didn’t teach me any woodwork or design. He didn’t equip me with a set of heirloom tools to carry out such work and yet my parents gave me everything I needed to make this project and indeed all my other work. I went out and learned the skills and earned money to buy the tools you need to do this kind of thing, but maybe the infrastructure my parents gave me is the foundation to all of that.
Or maybe its just a box
Happy Fathers Day