I was very young when my dad taught me how to hold a screw driver. I could have been 5 years old or maybe 6. I remember how I used to play in his workshop with a tiny black ratchet, shooting at imaginary Aliens. Dad had a business to construct garage doors and he would get big industrial projects for huge doors that he would weld himself. He was and still is a master craftsman. Dad taught me how to use many different tools and we started off straight away. We touched briefly on how to use a drill hammer and a hand saw (age 9), how to weld and how to use a disk saw (age 10?), jigsaw (age 12?).. The list goes on. When I wanted something done out of wood (like a cross bow!) dad would just go to the next door wood workshop and quickly make something up for me. It was not all without fail, when I was 13 I was carving drum sticks for a friend from school using a Japanese knife.
Don't ask me why, silly, yes. Needless to say it ended badly. At the time I was volunteering at a veterinary hospital so I was not too frightened by the sight of blood or the massively deep cut.. we needed to go to hospital... Five stitches later, good to go. I remember talking to big brother and him nodding his head and later on telling me I should have just used a sanding paper make it into strips and off I go. I went back to finish the sticks, did a couple of clear varnish layers on it to finish it off. The drumming sticks turned out beautiful.So, the project was a success, the kid never managed to break my drum sticks, but, he ended up losing them in a hotel two years later. Shame on you Minkovsky.
Later that year, I wanted to install a firemen pole to slide off my tree house. Dad got a 5 meter long aluminium pole that we put right beside the tree house. We used to call it the Monkey House because it was so hight up, embedded in the tree. Roughly 4 meters off the ground. I was 13 and digging a 50cm hole in the ground beside the tree to base the firemen pole into. The pole had two latches at the top that dad welded and drilled in for me. The ground was hard and 13 year old me was unsuccessful in digging much deepen than 10cm. Dad ended up getting me a mini cordless jack hammer, "Here you are Mikey, this button makes it stop and start". There I was, tiny girl, big jack-hammer, 40 knots wind blowing all around and the tree branches moving wildly but I am determined to get my Monkey House firemen pole ready for action, no matter what! If I had to wait another day I would surely die. It had to be done right then and there! The hole was finely dug, the pole went in, the latches at the top were attached to one of the thick branches of the tree. Ready to go! I think I spent a lot of time up sitting in my Monkey House, reading stories and taking off on wild imaginary adventures into wild imaginary places whilst feeling very sheltered and at peace. I would go there today if I could even though I am all "grown up". Alas, the house has been sold off 10 years ago. I will make my own Monkey House one day, maybe I will call big brother and dad to come to the rescue before I cut off my whole arm... Just kidding.
Even though it was never serious tool training like he did with my brother who was meant to take over the business, dad taught me everything I know and whenever we got to spent time together he would riddle my brain with engineering challenges. We were not close dad and I but the quality time we spent together was most productive and most character building. There is nothing more loving than building or making something for someone or even more so, making something with someone.
I have never ever feared holding any tool in my hand and I never thought a job was too big on me. I like electronic boards, I like industrial designs, I like quirky projects. I love love love spending time at hardware stores and looking at tools. I suppose my most vivid memory from childhood is looking over the sink as my dad washes his hands from a hard day of labour and the sink is rough and off-white in colour and the water are black from grease washing off my dad's weary hands. First Turpentine to get rid of the grease, then the poor soap, more black than white.
My dad moved out when I was 13 which was unfortunate because, who knows what other exciting projects dad and I might have built together. He is a Peter Pan and since his retirement he spends most of his days painting and doing various handy-man projects. Now days, as I live in Australia and he resides as always in Israel, I wish I lived close by and not so far far away. Dad has recently turned 62 and I look forward to presenting a finalized project to him with proud. Thanks dad for sharing your skills with me with so little effort. I look forward to improving my handy-woman skills.
