Troy is Definitely my Dad
If this fact was ever in question (which is wasn’t), it has been put to rest today. I walked into Lowe’s at lunch to peruse light fixtures and paint samples. I entered through the doors reserved for serious handy-people. You know, the one where you will not find the wimpy orange buggies, but rather the green, well worn flat bed carts. The door where you are not met with customer service personnel or Do-It-Yourself Gardening books, but with the smell of lumber and sight of large men lifting large slabs of what I can only imagine will one day become someone’s home.
As I crossed the threshold of that great establishment, I was struck by how deeply I breathed in the scents that enveloped me and how wonderful I found them. I was a little giddy sauntering down the aisles dreaming of future projects and I regretted not spending more time in my Daddy’s basement acquiring the skills necessary to actually complete any of these lofty undertakings. I had the urge to learn to handle a circular saw and create something from nothing.
I left without purchasing anything, but I did have a little better understanding my Dad.