THE TOOLBOX Pinoks Vibes Dad's toolbox sat on the same shelf for as long as I can remember. Red paint chipped. Handle worn smooth. A few dents. Few bends. A few scratches. Dry screeching latches. Just like the man who carried it...a life story that matches --- After the funeral I found myself surrendering and pending alone in his garage, his shelves making a collage Dust floating through sunlight. Silence where laughter was a bright site And there it was. The toolbox. Waiting. more stories than any painting --- I opened it slowly. Half expecting him to walk through the door holy and tell me I was putting everything back wrong...his words firm and strong --- There was the hammer he used to build our fence with such glamor The wrench he used to fix that old bench The tape measure he carried almost every day as his treasure Each tool had a story attached to it in glory Each scratch had earned its patch. Here's the catch --- By standing there holding those old tools I realized it was not for fools. The most valuable things Dad's ever brings were never inside that box...it was his way showing me how to fix lifes blocks full of locks --- He taught me that a handshake means something standing up That your word is either worth keeping or it isn't worth giving. --- He taught me to show up early. Work hard. Finish what you start. And never expect applause for doing what you're supposed to do even with flaws Ask if you don't know...you don't have to bow You already have a No....You can only get a YES. --- He taught me how to lose. How to fail. How to get knocked flat and never bail still get up tomorrow morning because quitting Comes with respect warning. --- Funny thing is... when we're young we think our fathers are teaching us how to fix fences. Repair benches. Swing hammers. Turn wrenches. --- What they're really growing is teaching us by showing how to fix ourselves without knowing when life breaks something inside us glowing --- Years later I still reach for those lessons. More often than the tools and sessions And every time I do I hear his voice. No loud noise. Not dramatic. Just steady and classic Like it always was...systematic --- Today that toolbox sits in my garage. The paint is fading even more making my own collage The hinges squeak. The tools are older. And so am I learning from his folder staring over his soulful shoulder --- Sometimes my son stands beside me while I work feeling free him and me Asking questions. Making suggestions. Learning. The same way I did...n can of questions with no lid --- And every now and then I catch myself going back again saying things word for word those wisdom brings the way Dad used to say them and frame them And suddenly he doesn't feel so far away. --- One day that toolbox will belong longer to stay for my son to say The hammer. The wrench. The tape measure treasure. All of it. it's mine...I'll take care of it --- But I hope when that day comes he understands what took me years to learn and his path i burn The greatest inheritance was never the toolbox he earn It was the man we create who carried through to be great --- And some things don't rust. Don't break. Don't wear out. Because the strongest tools a father leaves behind are not made of steel. They're made of character and rules. And those can last forever making you clever Never better like Dad ever. 🎤 Pinoks Vibes Songs for the bruised, Not the perfect !!!
