My father turned 100 on Sunday.
Well, at least I could celebrate the 100th anniversary of his birth above the sod.
Ben C. died 13 years ago after an outstanding career as father, post office worker, draftsman, and hardware salesman.
No, he didn't pedal monitors, component towers, keyboards or those pesky external drives.
He dealt with real hardware, stuff such as carriage bolts, hammers, light switches, drill bits, and allen wrenches, that real people used to keep their homes and businesses humming in top repair.
There was no one better at puttying a new glass window into a wooden sash or repairing an alumnium screen door -- services that are nearly impossible to find in a throw-it-away-and-just-buy-it-new culture.
Picasso had nothing on a guy who could free-hand paint a sign (Trash Cans: $2.98) that could stop traffic cold on Davison East. And, of course, he served customers cordially and faithfully with knowledgable advice while asking "Was there anything else today?"
Ben C. probably would have been an outstanding aeronautical engineer if only he could have finished his second two years of college instead of having to survive the First Great Depression of the early 1930s. But he chose to pilot a better course for all of us as Dad.