Someone hit our mail box today, they took out their passenger mirror. They bent up the mailbox, so out to the tool shed to retrieve tools. Then down to the road I went. As I worked on the mail box, bending and reforming the misshapen steel, I grabbed Dad’s old pliers, I had used them countless times before, but this was different. After the job was done I looked at the pliers and wondered where he got them. What jobs had he used them on, what stories could they tell about him. I felt a warm connection to him that we both used this tool, a connection of what was………
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