Dad’s hammer
Trying to remove a gizmo from my bike yesterday that was stuck because of a stripped hex bolt, I had occasion to root around L’s tools for a hammer, something small and precise that I could use to carefully tap the gizmo loose.
I remember this hammer from my childhood. It was Dad’s. Lissa reminded me that it was a tack hammer. Dad, an artist, used it for mounting canvas on his frames. One end was magnetic, to hold the tacks. (My sister, Lisa, remembered this detail.)
Using it was a happy memory. Dad’s been gone for a dozen years, but his art and a bunch of his little things remain with us.
Today would have been his 106th birthday.
