Magic Toolbox

This is going to sound like a lie but almost every single time I need some sort of tool or bolt or screw or wire nut or (forgive me for being too technical here) that doodad needed to attach a light-fixture to that electrical box in the ceiling, well there it is in my tool box. Almost every time. Freaky, eh?

Here’s the even weirder part. I have no idea where the majority of that stuff in my toolbox came from. I don’t recall ever restocking it. Sure, some of it is left over parts from various projects, but mostly I guess my Dad supplied it.

Twenty years ago, he loaded a bunch of tools and what-not into the back of my rusty car before I moved to Alberta. I didn’t pay much attention although I was mildly irritated because my Dad was a serious hoarder and indeed he needed to edit the junk out of his life but I didn’t think it was really necessary that I drive his junk to Alberta and throw it out for him.

Turns out it wasn’t junk though. Years later, my oldest brother was visiting and discovered a number of his missing tools in that toolbox and that highlights another thing my Dad was: generous.

Were you thinking the word “thief” might be more appropriate? Maybe so, but I think my Dad was so “generous” with me because he worried that I would never be able to take care of myself, something my brothers could always do quite efficiently. Sadly, I am the family fart-in-a-windstorm.

Anyway, I think my Dad is still refilling my toolbox. And that’s the weirdest part considering he passed away seven years ago now. He has to be responsible. I have to chuckle though because I wish he had some sort of next-world power that would help me buy the right lottery ticket or secure a book deal or even magically morph my teenagers into compliant robots but instead, somehow he continues replenishing my toolbox like some gruff old tool fairy.

Yeah, I know. This theory is pea-brained and delusional. But I like it. Every time I riffle through that toolbox I find what I need and for a moment, I find Dad too. And for that moment, I imagine he’s still here doing his typical things: laugh-wheezing, complaining about the government, buying five pound boxes of chocolate for my kids and sharing highly exaggerated “true” stories. Maybe he gave me that gift too?