Dad's Coveralls

Dads Coveralls

Growing up, my brother and I had the typical childhood, filled with pro ball games in our yard with our neighborhood friends.?Riding bikes from sun up to sun down, places I am sure our mother would scold us for even today if she only knew.?Mom worked during the school year as a preschool teacher at our church, saving money for vacations in the Summer, and new school clothes for us in the Fall. Our dad worked shift work for the electric utility company in a production power plant his entire career. If you have never known anyone who worked shift work, you have to know, there is at least one week each month during the school year, we didn’t get to see our dad.?He was gone before we got home from school, and did not return until well past our bed time.?I can tell you this, we were never far from his thoughts though.?You see, during this week where we were seemingly absent from our dad, he made sure we knew he was always thinking of us.?Upon waking in the morning, there was always some kind of treat for us waiting by our lunches from the vending machine at his work.?Kids today likely cannot appreciate the magic of a vending machine as we do from growing up in our time.?The weeks he went to work in the evenings and returned as we were waking to start our school day, there was always a hot bacon, egg, and pancake breakfast ready for us.?This also served to relieve our mother of the breakfast burden so she too could prepare for her work day ahead.?On the way out the door, everyone got hugs, his amazing smile which shown brightly against his tired eyes and his constant message, “have a great day.” Of course there were the weeks his shift matched our schedule, and the favorite, four day break between the start of a new series.?

Though our dad worked hard, there were times he was not working or gathering sleep for the day ahead.?During these times, he could almost always be found under the hood of a car.?We always had one good reliable vehicle that was for work transportation and family vacations.?Then there was the “project car.” There was a ’56 Belair, a ’69 Camaro, a few trucks sprinkled in, and his last project, a ’57 Belair.?By training and education, our dad was a mechanic as his dad was.?However, early on, he recognized this was work that would make raising a family difficult, and become very taxing on his body. The irony was, unbeknownst to him, managing a power plant working rotating shift work his entire career would end up equally difficult. He was never alone under the hood, or under the car as he was almost always accompanied by my brother and or I.?Right there, to borrow his tools, making sure our bikes, and the occasional go kart were too in tip top shape.?This often resulted in our poor dad, putting said bikes and go karts back together after we “fixed” them.?Then there was the constant lost tool I am sure we “borrowed.” Through all this, he made sure we gained the knowledge to always make our own diagnosis of the problem, necessary repair, and most importantly, clean up the mess that was made.?All of this “driveway education” resulted in my brother and I becoming more than capable home mechanics for hobby sake anyway, and can certainly attack most home owner projects whether we know anything about it or not.?You see, he not only gave us the proverbial tools for success, but the confidence to take on any task, and see it through to completion.?

Since his passing in 2018, there have been more times than I can count that I just wanted to reach out to him, and confirm my diagnosis of a particular issue or problem.?During these times, I draw upon that confidence instilled in me to dig in, take it apart, and trust, I can put it back together better than I found it.?But there is always that nagging “I wonder if……”

Today, coming into my parents garage, I noticed, laying across the fender of that ’57 Belair were my dad’s coveralls.?Exactly where he laid them after working on it the last time.?I sat for a moment in thought, why have I not seen those before.?Gathering them up, I took them in the house and dropped them in the wash as they have been out there in that same position for at least the last five years.?A few hours later, they were washed, and dried, looking nearly as new as the day they came out of the package I suspect.?

It took me a while to gather the motivation, but I had to try them on.?Not surprising, they fit like a glove. What I did not count on however, was the raw emotion that poured through me as I stood there with dads coveralls on. Everyone grieves differently, and for me, I put things in an emotional box, then high upon a shelf, peeking in from time to time, often deciding, not today.?It may take years for me to finally unpack that box, and go through the emotions, and find proper closure. Today, standing there in dad’s coveralls, was going to be that day.?I sat for a while thinking about all the life lessons he taught us, often disguised as a story from his own childhood.?All the tools he had given us for life.?All the confidence to go out and face the world and challenges we would certainly encounter, knowing that often it’s as simple as take it apart, find the trouble, and put it back together.?Standing there today in dads coveralls, I felt once more dads hug, and bright smile saying go have a great day. Thanks for the coveralls dad!

-Chris Shaw