My grandfather built houses for a living, including many in the town where I grew up. Late in his life, he began giving away some of
his tools that he knew he would no longer use. I fondly recall the day when he gave me his well-worn hammer. It was old, the head was
chipped, and though it looked worthless, I knew it represented a
lifetime of diligent work.
My father was also a builder, although that was not his primary occupation. I only know of one house that he built; it is the one where I lived for my entire childhood and where my mother still lives.
Earlier this year, after my father passed away, I found myself in the basement of his home, surveying his tool bench and the many artifacts of the simple life he had lead. Hanging neatly within a traced outline, I found his seasoned hammer, a near replica of the one his father had wielded.
Both bore the signs of strenuous wear, and both evoked the values of discipline and integrity with which their owners had swung them. I see them as symbols of honest and productive labor; I cherish them as fitting tributes to two of the men who helped shape my character.
I am reading this with tear filled eyes feeling the same pride and deep love for both my brother and my dad. As you know uncle Vince was also a builder. I was and am surrounded by men with a strong work ethic and succedsful careers in the building industry. One of my grandsons is also a builder and has built his own business based on honesty and hard work following in the footsteps of both his grandfather as well as his greatgrandfather. It's in the bloodline! Aunt Rose
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