My Hometown

My Hometown

Hold The Light

As I impatiently sit here waiting for Jiffy Lube to finish up my routine, 10-minute oil change, I have to admit to myself that I have never been too good at anything related to automobiles.

There are folks out there, ones that I highly admire, that can change their own oil, rotate their own tires, and replace their own brakes.

For me, that defines my grandpa.

I would sit with him out in the garage as he would slide under his car and get to work.

It didn’t matter what he had to do, he always seemed to know how to do it.

The simple things came easy, while working under the hood and changing belts were a little more frustrating, but in the end, he always achieved the goal.

Me, I was there with him as his not so good assistant.

He’d ask for a socket wrench and he’d get a pair of pliers.

He’d ask for a rubber mallet and he’d get a steel hammer; although it had a rubber handle.

He’d slide out from under the car, get his tools, and slide back under to get to work.

My job was quickly assigned; “Here, hold this light for me!”

And I held it with the utmost pride.

To this day I don’t know if my grandpa even needed any additional light.

I don’t even know if I was shining it in the right place.

But what I do know is that grandpa never lost his temper despite all of my screw-ups.

He never told me to go back inside and leave him alone to work.

Instead, he exercised an extreme amount of patience and made me feel like I was still a part of helping him out.


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