My first memory of my father was the smell of Go Jo hand cleaner.

My Grandfather was a small engine repair mechanic. My Father is

a mechanic. I am a mechanic. My oldest son is now studying our trade.

Is it any wonder that we do what we do? I think not. Fate? Maybe so.

He arises every morning early. Coffee, bacon, toast and eggs.

Pulling on his blue jeans one leg at a time. No Super man here.

Blue collar all the way. His scarred knuckles pull his steel toed

boots on just as scarred up as his hands. He might buy a new

pair once each year. Money is hard to come by and the children

want to attend the county fair. He stays broke, always bills to pay.

The shop he works in feels just like home. Seems he is there

every single day. To call in sick means he won't eat and family

will suffer too. His customers begin to drop in.

This man who works from dawn to dark and always smells of

grease. His elbows haven't ever been completely cleaned.

But that is the life. His tools welcome him like an old friend each

day. Looking forward to opening his old beat up red tool chest.

For he bought a home with them and they are priceless.

Each one brings a memory and he knows where he got each one.

If you are foolish indeed, ask to borrow one. He will tell you no!

With a gleam in his eye. These tools like a lover he knows too well.

The bright chrome of the sockets, The air tools that provide the

power. The dark black, deep well, impact sockets that break

loose the most rusted bolts. That Broken 3/8's ratchet he keeps

intending to exchange. Seems he cannot part with that one.

Man memories are strange. He rebuilt his sons engine with that

one. So many things that it helped him do. To part with it seems to

him a betrayal and that he can't excuse.

He is a hard man. Callouses line his palm. But he is fair in his dealings.

Ask anyone. The day goes by. Lunch may be some pretzels or Taco

Bell. It varies every day. When the children need more than he has.

He hungers for a day. Life's just that way. In a million other trades.

One million other people live, different skills but basic needs the same.

We all need happiness. The satisfaction of the job well done.

A bit of cash in the bank , that don't hurt anyone.

As he closes the hood on his latest task. And turns the ignition key.

The engine roars to life.......And my son grins at me.

So much damn pride. To pass on a legacy. I am honored and proud

to be his dad. Even when we argue. When it seems I may punch his eye.

I will be proud of my son and all my children till the day I die.

What more could I ask? I am the mechanic.

Phil G. Inman Sr.