The Utility Room

There was a room back home where Dad

stored all kinds of tools for

gardening, masonry, carpentry, and mechanical.

He referred to it as the utility room.

 

My dad was an all-around DIY kind of guy.

Often, I would be conscripted when I was young

to assist and be a gopher for Dad

on some fever-pitched project of his.

These undertakings would normally crop up

on short notice during a fair-weathered weekend.

 

Being dispatched to the utility room 

never presented itself as a problem

 unless I returned empty-handed.

It was during those moments 

that Dad would get irritated with me, 

for he would have to stop what he was doing

and go and look for the tool among

the menagerie of tools that were either

hanging, leaning, lying around, or

somewhere other than the utility room.

 

I cringed every time I was told 

to go and retrieve a tool from the utility room

because my dad was always fond of warning me

about returning empty-handed,

“I better not go there and find it!”

 

If I could not find it, he would not believe me.

If I could not find it, and he found it; it spelled trouble.

If I could not find it, and he could not find it,

then he would be in a foul mood that a tool was missing;

everybody was suspect, except for him.

 

The only way out of this situation

was for the tool to be right

where it was remembered

to be seen last by Dad!

In fact, there were times

when I wanted to see a tool so badly

that it could be right in front of me,

and I would not see it! 

I think that infuriated my dad the most. 

My wife can testify that even today; 

I still have these blind-spot moments.

“You can’t see that?” She would ask in disbelief! 

I shared in my dad's frustration

that nothing was more aggravating

than being halted on a project

because the right tool for the job was MIA.

Added to that aggravation

were the endless pilgrimages

to the local hardware store,

particularly plumbing...

 

DIY projects demand the patience of Job.

My dad, as a preacher’s kid, had apparently,

never read, listened, or learned from Job.

Dad believed that everything had its place;

so that when you needed a specific tool for a job

it should be where you expect it to be.

“It should be" was always problematic.

I quickly learned to put things back

where I got it from.

 

Unfortunately for me, not everyone in the household

kept the dad doctrine to his satisfaction –

“When you’re done, 

put it back where you got it from!”

Simple enough was not always convenient enough, 

and sometimes, “When you’re done”

can keep it out of the utility room

until it is missing...

 

So, my dad’s assistant and gopher 

was a handy whipping post 

for him to vent his frustrations.  

Fortunately for me, 

it never took on a physical form.

The mental pressure was bad enough!

 

Looking back, I have no fond memories

concerning the utility room

or dad's project marathons.

I tend to think there’s some kind of

a utility room in the life of every boy

that can easily transform itself

from utility into futility,

a positive into a negative.