Write about an important first - where someone taught you how to use or do something. Consider all the greater meanings embedded in that moment. - Angelique Stevens
Recently, my dad taught me how to use a drill. I was somewhat familiar with the basics of a drill, like how to switch drilling directions but I didn’t know much else. I stuck to my hand dandy screw drivers, flat heads, and hex keys. So when my dad offered to help me move into my new apartment, I obliged, especially since I separated from my partner.
I’ve witnessed my dad do handyman work in literally every home our family moved into, totaling around 10 households. One of his finer works is customizing the bedroom closets. Of all the years he had done so, I never once offered to help. I thought that’s what fathers are for - to do the fixer upper stuff. However, in living on my own this time around, he offered to teach me and I begrudgingly agreed to learn. That implied multiple trips to home depot, a whole lot of drill handling, and father-daughter bonding.
My dad was always hard on me growing up. Even though my mom was, and continues to be, a formidable force in my life. My dad raised me with the mindset to prepare me for the world his single mother endured. A world unlike my own. That caused strife between us in my childhood which nurtured a fractured relationship. That fracture underwent on and off again renovations in the years following my college completion. Today, the structure perseveres but sometimes there’s a little straining that just needs the remedy of some reinforcements.
When my dad and I revamped my studio closet, the synapses of my mind clicked together in awe of how far our relationship has come. He wasn’t simply teaching me how to put up a closet. Nor was he teaching me how to be functional adult. My dad was teaching me how to exist in the world without him. And for that, I will always appreciate my father.