My father is in town again this summer and we have been working in the shop on various projects together (feels like home) which got me thinking about the first time I turned a wrench. You see my dad is one of those guys that could jump in a mud hole and come out without spec on him...not sure how he does that, well, I decided it is because he has me doing his dirty work. we started talking about the old days and I instantly went back to my first days of turning wrenches.....We were at a pick & pull when I was asked to "just crawl under there and loosen that fitting", well that fitting turned out to be a power steering line, and being a newb, I had no clue what was about to happen As you can guess, I was squarely under the "fitting" so I could see what I was doing ..."just one more thread" and VIOLA!! instant fluid bath! ...I was about 10 or 11 years old then, but I learned quickly to stay to the side!!
Anyone have any good stories to share?
Hope everyone is doing well,
w

 

I remember being probably being 4 years old and having to hold a flashlight so my dad could change a U-joint on his F-250 in the middle of the night because he had to work the next day. He had me helping pretty much from the beginning. I have people almost get offended because I do a lot of my own work. Don't get me wrong, I am FAR from being a proficient mechanic, but I guess they see my profession and automatically realize that I probably can't screw in a light bulb. When people ask, I just say "I realize now why my daddy made me hold that flashlight for all those years."

 

Not realy fixing anything but dad bought a new 1971 Honda CB 750 and "let" me wash and wax it. Every inch was shiny. It taught me to love things that had wheels.

 

My father was a teacher who did a lot of things around the house, but really nothing mechanical. I took auto shop in high school one semester. Almost all I did was watch and help other kids who had cars, I didn't have one yet. I got just enough out of that class to be dangerous - I completely rebuilt a Volvo 4 cylinder in a '66 Volvo, mine and my wifes first car. It needed a ring job, so I took it apart and put in new bearings and rings and had the head rebuilt. It ran for years after that and was I surprised! Then I went into woodworking and all I did with wrenches was an occasional brake job and tune ups. Then I got hired to build a woodie and now I am hooked. Not a professional by any stretch, but I do love working on them now. That reminds me, I need to go out and work on my truck.

 

As a kid of about five or six, maybe seven, I had the only pull wagon with brakes and rear coil spring suspension. The brakes were inspired by the brakes on my grandfather's horse drawn wagon. The springs were valve springs from an old engine. The brakes worked good but the spring suspension needed a panhard bar. Guess my engineering skills still needed a bit of honing.
A few years later I became the area Whizzer motorbike guru. And then it got worse.

 

I was probably about 4 years old, Dad sat me up on the cowl panel of the 65 Falcon Futura project car he was working on... I remember him having me reach in and pull out bellousing bolts cause my hands and arms fit where his wouldn't. He never drove that Falcon, or the 72 Maverick Sprint, or the 60 F100, or the 351C powered Pinto Wagon, or the V8 Ranger, or the 68 F100 Sport Custom, or the 65 Mustang Hardtop.... but my brother and I just reaquired his Mustang.... Step-mother gave it to her grandson when Dad passed, he just gave it to us.

Now I have a 3 1/2 year old grandson that is always wanting to be in the garage with "Tampa" (that's me). He will get my 56 F250 when I am gone, if not before. I know it will be in good hands, and he will have plenty of memories of working on it with me.

 

We had the family farm but my dad worked at a beer brewery in the afternoon so it was up to me to keep everything running at the ripe old age of about 10 years old. Then I was better at fixxing thing than my dad but he really knew how to make BEER

 

Uh, hit the wrong button. I was raking hay when I was 10 and popped a front tire on the tractor so I took the jeep and went to town by myself to get a new one and knew this driving on the highway was a pretty neat thing until I met the sherriff going the other way,of course he turned around and gave me a talking to but he owned a farm also so he said to go get the hay raked, I thought I was the coolest kid in the county, GET-R-DONE.....

 

I can remember helping my Dad overhaul a Jeep when I was 8. I drove the Jeep about a mile everyday when I was 9 to catch the school bus.

 

WOW! I don't know what part is better--driving the Jeep on the highway or RAKING HAY at 10 years old by yourself. Man, times have changed! My dad turned me loose in his pickup when I was about 12. He always told me to not mention it to mom. THEN, when I was about 13 or 14, my mom was cooking supper and told me to jump in her big 1978 LTD and go get my brother from football practice. That ended up being almost a daily occurrence.

 

My birthday present when I was in kindergarten (besides church sox) was an old B&S lawnmower engine, and a couple of wrenches. I took that thing apart 20 or 30 times over the winter of '58, going further and further into it each time. Somehow it stayed with us when we moved, and in the mid-60's I actually got it to run for the first time (hadn't ever tried before).

One of my earliest memories of my dad is him laying under our shoebox Ford in the back yard, replacing the trans with one from the boneyard. The used car dealer had sold him the car with sawdust in the trans to make it quiet... Learned some new words that day, too!

 

I was probably about 7 or 8 working with my Dad on his 32 3-Window flathead. Removed the Intake and the Heads. Broke two studs.

Years later, the biggest compliment I ever received from him before he died was that I was much better with wrenches than he was......

 

I can't remember NOT having a tool in my hand. I must have been 5 or 6 when I helped my father build our garage. The sheathing was all tongue and groove wood salvaged from old wooden boxcars that were being scrapped by the RR. My father did all his own work on everything. I remember being at his side on every project he did, if he wanted me there or not. I will always remember our standard joke banter: Dad to me when I'd start to crowd in, "What do you want?". Me: "I wanna watch...". Dad: "I'll buy you one for Xmas!".
It continued in the family. I remember my next younger brother at 3 unscrewing all the hinges on the lower kitchen cabinet doors one day, and taking apart my parent's alarm clock at 4 to see how it worked (he was better at taking apart than putting together, that clock never worked again). My youngest brother became the one who could figure out why something didn't work and fix it. We later in our early to mid teens banded together as "Frank Bros. auto service" so we could buy our parts wholesale, and in our late teens on to today we still use "Frank Bros. Racing Enterprises" on our race cars, even tho we are in different states.

 

I don't remember mine so much but I do know when I got my boy started...

 

I was probably in 3rd grade when I got my first bike and undoubtedly, my first flat tire. I was 3 when my dad decided to "bug out" for 9 years; it was either fix the bike or walk. I remember having to use butter knives instead of an actual screwdriver, a pair of pliers and a Crescent wrench (that was the sum total of the tools in the house-we rented our apartment). Almost 45 years later, I have a steel building with a lift and I quit looking in the tools section as I have pretty much every tool I'll ever need. Life is good!