What My Pink Toolbox Taught Me

Written By: Kim - Jun• 19•11

I was a lucky kid. I grew up in a family with loving parents. Sometimes our traditional family meant a single-parent family. Dad was in the US Army and deployed to Vietnam twice, Germany, Korea and Thailand once each. During those long stretches of time, Mom would hold down the fort. She was excellent at doing this despite the challenges. But this is not a post about Mom.

My Dad could fix anything. His childhood fascination with car motors translated in to helicopter maintenance for the Army that lead to his ability to fix many things around the house. He took his interest in cars a step further: Dad restored old trucks and cars during his free time.

Emory C. Wickline & me, 1970

Dad taught me how to drive on a clutch. He would take me to a hill and we stayed there until I could successfully move the car from neutral without stalling it. I can still hear him calmly say: “Ease up on the clutch and press on the gas.” I only hope I can be as calm as he was if my kids ask me to teach them to drive. Too bad he wasn’t as calm when I broke my left wrist riding my skateboard. He was so nervous, Mom had to drive me to the hospital.

My Dad also taught me how to check the oil in my car and the tire pressure; how to change a tire; use a hammer, what the difference was between a Philips screwdriver and a flat tip; what monkey wrenches were for; and where the fuse box is located.  But most all, he taught me to be independent and strong.

My first toolkit, courtesy of my Dad.

I am sure he must have looked kind of silly buying me my first tool kit — in pink. But, over 20 years after I moved out, it’s still in my laundry room with quick tools we might need. I think of him every time I access it and my husband chuckles every time he sees it. Pink indeed.

More than the logistics of basic car knowledge and tool use, my Dad became my benchmark for men. I compared all of them to him. Did they love their Moms? How did they treat their sisters? Were the handy? Smart? Caring? Loving? Dependable? Supportive? Did he have moxie? Was he patriotic? Does he give back to his community? What kind of animal lover was he? Did he cry when his family dog died? Did he want children? How loyal and faithful would he be? My future husband’s shoes were big to fill and I am lucky to have found the man to fill them.

So to all the Dads out there, I say thank you and Happy Father’s Day. Anyone can father a child, but it takes a special man to be a Dad. We love you.

 

Mom: The Best Cheerleader Ever

Written By: Kim - May• 07•11

This weekend is Mother’s Day. It’s the ninth one that I have celebrated motherless. My first Mother’s Day without my Mom, I was a wreck. I was in a Hallmark story buying cards for both my mother-in-laws when the sales person asked if I was picking out a card for my Mom. I replied curtly, “My Mother is dead.”  I am not sure who was shocked more because saying it out loud was still kind of foreign to me. I could not hold it together long enough to get out of the mall without bursting in to tears. Nine years later, Mother’s Day still leaves me with void that only a Mom can fill.

The Wickline family 1968.

I was lucky enough to grow up in a home with two loving parents. I was the last of five and it was my Mom’s second marriage. She and my Dad were married five years before I came along. In between that time, she miscarried a baby boy. I was planned for and wanted. I always felt loved.

Dad was in the US Army and sometimes he was deployed elsewhere in the world. My one, true constant was my Mother. She was there through everything good or bad; glorious or tragic. Alone, she kept our family together while my Dad was deployed twice to Vietnam, once to Thailand and once to Korea.

Although I put my father on a pedestal like many daughters do, it was my Mother who was my rock. It was my Mother who provided me with the foundation for my faith. The one who practiced, as well as she could, what she preached. The one who cherished all of her children because she knew they were a gift from God. The one who always had a smile on her face for me and open arms when I needed a hug.

Don’t get me wrong: my relationship with my Mom was far from perfect. At times, she drove me nuts and we would argue. Constantly reminding me to buckle my seat belt when I was a teenager (smart move). Waiting up until I came home. Draping me in everything pastel or ruffles. There were discussions during wedding dress shopping (she caved), about my children’s names (we kept them) and that noise she used to make when cheering at high school football games. It’s a good thing my Mom was so well read because she knew that tribal women in other countries made this noise, but it was still embarrassing. Thank God I was huddled up with the band during high school football games. My Dad should get a medal for having to endure those embarrassing moments.

As a woman who had a high school education, Mom was extremely proud of me when I earned my college and graduate degrees. But she was also just as proud when I gave birth to two beautiful children. She always told me I could be anything I wanted. She believed in me so I could believe in myself. She instilled this message in me so I could pass it along to my kids.

Me and Mom; Mother's Day 1987.

Please hug your Mom one more time and tell her you love her for me and the children like me who no longer can say it to their Moms.