My Fathers Workbench .. what is your story?

My Father's Workbench - by Martin Brossman

On my 50th birthday in April, I spent the day taking both my parents to two doctor appointments, an exhausting time for them and me. At the end of the day, I went into the basement of their home, the Washington, D.C. house where I grew up, to find a quiet moment. Finding myself standing in front of Dad’s workbench. I got out my cell phone and took a picture.

Later when I looked at that photo, I knew why I had choked up a few weeks before when I stood in my just-built garage in Raleigh, when I was deciding where my new workbench would go. Looking at Dad’s old bench made me realize just how deeply I have always wanted a place to have a home-made workbench like his, one where I could work on household repairs and make things. Most of all I wanted a big sturdy bench where I could properly mount my red vice that I have carried with me from three places I have lived.

I realized, too, that creating my own workbench is connecting me back to the time as a kid when I worked with my father at his workbench. It was where Dad always started house jobs from, and where we ended house jobs by putting away the tools. It was part of connecting with my Dad, who worked a lot but still had time for us to do things. It was not the cleanest workbench and that is part of what made it great. The bench was a piece of heavy plywood that he cut and laid across the top of two unfinished dressers that he found on sale. It could hold all our tools on the pegboard wall or in the dresser drawers. My favorite drawer was the one with the soldering iron and electrical stuff in it.

That bench had history. Each cut in the surface, outline of spray paint, glob of epoxy that had stuck to the paper and the bench, and the drill hole that went too far through the wood, were all important. It was the evidence that represented my father and I working with our hands to figure something out, reminding me how he would share when he did not have it all worked out, but would in time. We did minor plumbing that sometimes lead to major plumbing, requiring a plumber to finish the job. We did simple wiring and electrical projects, like rewiring a lamp on the bench or gluing a broken cup after mixing the gray two-part epoxy on the workbench.

It was on that bench where I cut out the aluminum holes for the knobs, meter and connector of my lie detector science project-- modeled after one in Popular Science Magazine--that won first place. My father let me do as much of it as possible, right down to misspelling the word Calibration on the front. All this hands-on experience made me a hero in college because I had a small tool chest (which was a portable workbench to me) and could fix things that the other guys in the dorm could not.

From the “men’s work” that I have been involved in, to my work with The Triangle Men’s Center as their Vice President, I have learned a lot in the past decade or so about the mental wounds that can occur in men’s lives due to an absent or abusive father. I have met so many men who never had this element in their life, who never had a Dad who included them in house jobs, or experienced a family workbench that held the tools they used together. And I have learned that often men who do receive from their father the importance of having a work space (or their own space) will later give it up to please their family or someone else.

I believe these spaces are part of us. They are more important than many of us realize. The guys who give up their own space, who don’t create their workbench area , may not realize the cost until much later in life. Maybe you have a memory of a workbench. Maybe you need to go futz with something on your workbench. Or maybe you need to create a space for a workbench. Think about it.

Even though my father is on dialysis and much weaker now, I know he will be glad to see a picture of the workbench I am going to build in my garage. It will be ready to photograph when I attach the red vice that mounts with 4 big bolts on its right-hand corner. Over time, it will collect its own holes and nicks from the projects I imagine happening on it. I’ll have to remember to take a picture years from now.

Thanks Dad, for introducing me to the workbench. You weren’t just teaching me handyman skills, you were modeling patience and confidence, and how to carve out a small space for peaceful enjoyment . I hope to keep sharing this valuable message with other men who might be missing the importance of a workbench in their life.

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( My Fathers Workbench Blog)

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Friday, June 19, 2009

My dad's workbench came with the house we lived in


My dad's workbench came with the house we lived in, which was built in the late 1800s. The workbench is in the basement, it is long with lots of drawers, solid legs, and a very sturdy top. The top has lots of marks, gouges, and nails embedded in it. It has a pegboard in the back where
many tools hang, and a few things hang from the rafters above. He also had lots of metal shelves to hold things, a special tool box with electrical items, and an old board mounted on the wall with holes drilled in it to hold screwdrivers. My dad was also a collector of nails and screws, he has boxes of all sizes and types that he collected over the years. There's a calendar on the wall from the 30s that were there when bought the house. In his later years he found a label maker at a yard sale, and labeled everything.

I was the oldest of 5, and 4 of us were boys. We were always using my dad's tools, and of course we left them on the bench every time instead of putting them back. Every once in a while my dad would get really irritated, and spend a Saturday morning cleaning up his tools and putting
everything away. It was an exercise in futility, we always made it messy again with our own "projects". When he needed to do work, he would make it a point to clean up the bench before starting so he could find things he needed without getting frustrated. It wasn't until all of us had grown and moved out that I realized it was us that made the mess, and not my dad. He kept it neat all the time once us boys no longer borrowed his tools.

Since my dad died, I have been slowly claiming some tools for myself, as have my brothers. My mother only needs a few things for repairs, there will be no more big projects. One of the tools I took was an old hand drill, which sounds like the one Ken described as S shaped. When I recently did some work that required a large diameter hole, it was the only tool I could use to do the job. It made me feel close to my dad, like I was helping him with another of his projects around the house.

Some of his tools are from another time, but they still do the job and have a lot of memories attached to them. My own workbench is much like my dad's, but smaller with only one drawer.
It came with my house which was built in the mid 1800s. It's messy, my own kids do to me what we did to my dad. It makes me happy that some of the tools they borrow to do their stuff are the same ones I borrowed from my dad. The legacy continues.
Rick
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