Thank you, Pops

As many of you know, my Dad passed away last Monday. What you may not know is where I get my remodeling gene from.

When my folks bought the home I grew up in, it needed a ton of work. Dad built a family room out of part of the garage, and transformed a badly enclosed breezeway into a music room / office. Over the years, he spruced up every room of the house, with special touches like a custom-sized pantry added to old kitchen cabinets.

I loved to tag along while Pops worked and be his helper, holding screws, running to the workshop for a forgotten tool, and generally getting underfoot. But he never chided me, and actively encouraged my interest in home repair. So many of the skills that I'm proud of I learned as his side, as he quietly taught me that every homeowner could -- and should -- tackle their own home repairs.

When I was in seventh grade, I made a deal: If he'd buy the paint, I'd paint my bedroom. I learned a lot of practical lessons: The kind you'd expect (such as how to keep a roller from dripping, how to get even coverage) and some you might not (like how paint colors can look surprisingly different on the chip than they do on four large walls). As I worked my way around the room to the closet, I remember asking Dad if I needed to paint the inside walls.

"No," he said, with characteristic thoughtfulness, "But every time you look at it, you could end up wondering why the heck you didn't." Of course, as a lazy teenager, I didn't paint the inside walls. And, of course, as a seasoned renovator, he was right -- I frequently looked back on that afternoon and shook my head at my own laziness. Whenever I'm tempted to take a shortcut around the house, this is one of the things that keeps me honest.

After Dad retired, many of my parents' visits centered around some remodeling project that we knew would run more smoothly with his help. Two of the largest included installed a spiral stair at our very first house, and building a closet in our Seattle bungalow. In between, Pops was a constant resource for us when we tackled things on our own, answering questions about this and that, consulting over the phone on a wide variety of repairs and upgrades.

After my folks sold the house in Orange and moved to Nevada, Pops was unfailingly generous with his handyman skills. I can't even begin to tell you how many people came up to me after his funeral with a story about how he'd helped them with some fix-it job.

I know it must sound silly, but I'm terribly sad that Dad never got to see our new kitchen and bath. In fact, he never got to see (in person) any of the work we've done on the Moultrie house -- he and Mom came to visit us a few days after we took possession of the house, when we were still living in the basement (ah, the more things change, the more they stay the same). But I know that he would have loved the work we're doing, and the care with which the crew is making every little detail shine.