Personal Narrative - My Father

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My Father

My father can fix anything. He can make the cabinet door work again, the toilet, the light switch. He has toolboxes of cold metal wrenches and sockets and screwdrivers that turn any bolt or screw, whining saws that cut wood into any shape, and gauges with dials that rotate in clicks and snaps to tell him what’s wrong with any cord. He has hammers of steel and rubber and wood. Pliers that cut, bend, and twist. Clamps, drills, straps, punches, tapes, glues, oils, and jellies. A filing cabinet of tiny drawers filled with washers and nuts and hinges and bits of colored wire that he rolls between his thumb and forefinger until he knows which is right for the job.

I follow him around the house, handing him tools and watching him put them to work. His arms and hands, rigid wit...

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