My Father and His Blue Hammer

Today my dad asked me to fetch his blue hammer for him. We were going to my sister's house to aid her in decorating for a ladies party she was throwing and we needed the hammer to pin up some nails so we could hang some items. Thus, I quickly walked to the back of our house and saw the hammer my dad was talking about. I picked up the hammer and saw that it wasn't the same hammer that I remembered it to be. It used to be blue, the brightest blue, and could pick it out of a line of hammer and think it was the best, but the blue has been peeling away and what is left of the blue paint has faded. The hammer part used to be the shiniest silver and would reflect the sun with great brightness and intensity, but now there are dents and marks all over it and the silver has faded into a grey. Its no longer pretty but it gets the job done. I remember when my dad first got it, as a carpenter he was very excited. It had a special feature on it that was magnetic and would hold the nail down for the first hit so the man hammering would not have to hold the nail down and risk hitting his fingers. I remember we were working on a specific house for a customer and he brought it out, set the nail on top of the magnet and with a smooth stroke the nail was set and the next hit had such great force upon it that it completely went into the wall without needing a second hit. When I tried to use my dads blue hammer, it weight was to great my arms to pick up and hold steady, my then small hands were barley big enough to grip the beast of a hammer. It was big, beautiful and in a way, it was who I think my dad is.

My dad may not be in the greatest shape that he once was, but he does not let the imperfections of his body slow him down when he is spending time with his family and when it comes to work, he always gets the job done. My dad's hands are rough and coarse from the years of work and labor with his hands, but when he holds my hand I feel the softness and love that wraps my hand and still engulfs it in safety. My dad's muscles may not be as cut as they once were in his life, but they still have the strength to lift me up and hold me as if I was still a baby tossing me in the air and catching me without me hitting the ground. My dad may have face that has been burnt from the sun, giving him a darker skin that he did not always have, but the smile I see when I come visit him is beautiful and the when the words 'i love you' come out of his mouth, it is honest and pure and I know he loves me. My dad may not be perfect in the eyes in many, but he is who he is, and I would want nothing else to be different. Big and beautiful, he is my perfect father.