home, farm, & garden by Larry VanHoose It’s no secret that my dad and I didn’t always get along in my youth. Between his anger issues and my rebellious nature, let’s just say it was a perfect storm scenario much of the time. I must admit though, we do have a lot in common. We both like football, and it doesn’t really matter who’s playing. We both like to hunt, though we never did together. We both like fast cars and traveling. And we both like to fix things. One of the predispositions I got from my dad was a fairly good mechanical aptitude. My pops was a tool and die machinist who ran an auto repair business on the side – big time on the side. It wasn’t unusual for us to have 15 or 20 cars in our driveway that weren’t our own. I guess when you’re good at something, word gets out. Early on I realized two things about mechanic-ing. One, I was good at fixing things – just like my dad. And two, my dad and I didn’t work well together. At all. The good news is that little roadblock didn’t stop me from exploring the way things worked, and in the summer, when I wasn’t playing baseball or hanging with my friends, you’d often find me tearing things apart just to see what made them tick. Surprisingly, a lot of the time I got things put back together with only a few leftover pieces – and they worked! Honestly though, it wasn’t my dad who taught me how to fix most things. It was our elderly neighbor across the street and two doors down – Mr. Sewell (being a kid, I never knew his first name). Now I’m not sure why, maybe he saw a little of himself in, shall we say, my troublesome nature, but Mr. Sewell took me under his wing. He was the one who taught me the love of fishing, gardening, and plain hard work. What my dad had to threaten me with repercussions to get me to do, Mr. S. just had to ask, and I’d jump in right beside him, doing the hottest, most difficult, and dirtiest jobs with a smile on my face. There was just something about that old man that I highly respected – and I could tell he liked to have me around too. (Mostly kids can tell if you like them, whether you realize it or not. Anyway, I digress.)
Mr. Sewell taught me how to benefit financially from my natural mechanical skills and he never seemed to tire helping me work through the toughest challenges. Together we became the neighborhood’s small engine repair “shade-tree” mechanics. It was a happy partnership that continued for several years until one day Mr. S. broke the devastating news to me – he and his wife were putting their house up for sale and moving to a retirement community in Florida. Moving day came too soon "The difference and his parting gifts to between people isn’t me were ten of his famous homemade bamboo fishing always talent or natural poles, some good (behavior) abilities or education." advice, and something I’d never gotten from him before, a great big bear of a hug. I think maybe we both even shed a tear or two? Tragically, Mr. S. passed away only a short year after moving south. The day I got the word from my mama, I went into our basement and sifted through all the fishing poles and gear he’d given me, and I tried to remember all the good times me and my old friend had had together. You know, it wasn’t the fishing or the cutting-up, or even the gifts that he gave me through the years that came back to me that gloomy winter day. No, rather it was the way he had always looked me in the eye when I spoke. The way he’d stop and listen to me. It was the way he taught me to work hard for what I wanted. And mostly it was how he taught me to think through challenges and to not get mad or give up. He always said, “The difference between people isn’t always talent or natural abilities or education. Mostly Lar, it’s just plain stick-to-it-ness.” Those my friends, are words to live by. “Blessed is the one who perseveres under trial because, having stood the test, that person will receive the crown of life that the Lord has promised to those who love him” (James 1:12 NIV.)
SURRY LIVING July 2021 Issue • 11
