Father's Day
Last week I picked up some brake parts at the neighborhood Auto Zone, and while checking out I noticed a big display of Liquid Wrench products near the register, all in new packaging, colorful aerosol cans that resemble little space ships. There was an assortment of lubricants--original penetrating oil, lithium grease, silicone spray, and several others I didn't recognize. Without thinking I reached over and picked up a can of penetrating oil, and added it to my order. Back home, unloading the parts, I began wondering why I'd bought the oil. I already had several cans of PB Blaster on hand, and a partial container of Kroil, so I certainly didn't need another lubricant. I'm not an impulse buyer and this was odd behavior, but it only cost three bucks so I tossed the can into the 40 and thought no more about it.
That is, until yesterday. I was fighting some frozen bolts on the old rustbucket and found myself reaching for the Liquid Wrench. Then I remembered. It was my Dad. From earliest childhood, watching him fix things, there was always a little can of Liquid Wrench in his tool box, and a quart container on a shelf over his work bench. He used it liberally on lawnmowers, bicycles, carbs, brakes, my Red Ryder BB gun, even my Mom's sewing machine. Any mechanical device that didn't cooperate, out came the Liquid Wrench. For a while there was a cartoon character featured in their advertising, Mr. Wrench or something like that, and I sometimes imagined that my Dad was the model for those ads. Silly, I know. It was a kid thing, and I never mentioned it to him. He said the oil was a remarkable substance that he'd discovered while in the Army, that GI's had used it on everything from Jeeps and tanks to M-1's and machine guns during WWII. He told me that no serious tool box should be without a can. It was the mechanic's silver bullet. That advice must have stuck somewhere in the back of my mind, like so many other things he taught me, little things I'm remembering now that he's gone.
Cruiser Corps completed their body repairs on my wrecked 40 in October of 2011, and over the following weeks, before Army became ill, he'd sometimes sit in a chair in the corner of his garage and watch me work at reassembling the old truck. Whenever I'd struggle with a particularly stubborn fastener he'd say "Son, I have a cheater bar over there under the work bench, and there's always the torch, but maybe you should try Liquid Wrench first." And when I did, it usually worked. 91 years old, barely hanging on, and he's still out there, trying to help. That was my Dad.
This morning I woke up early, built a pot of high octane coffee, the kind of heavy brew that only my Dad and I would drink, and thought about him. Then I did something peculiar, even for me. I removed a vase of freshly cut flowers that my wife had carefully arranged on the coffee table, and replaced them with the partially used can of Liquid Wrench, greasy fingerprints and all. She breezed through the room a few minutes later, saw me staring at the can, and stopped abruptly. "Where are my flowers? And what's that dirty oil can doing on my table?" I said "It's a tribute to my Dad. Just a small remembrance. Just for today. I'll move it tonight. OK?"
She started to object, saw that I wasn't joking, then "Sure...sure, leave it there. I miss him too." And there it sits in the middle of the table. It's a quirky thing, but so was my Dad. So today I remember him for a can of oil, and a lot more. I think he'd understand.
Happy Father's Day to all you fathers. And don't forget to give your Dad a call.
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