Most of you who read this blog know how I worked at Goble Properties with my father, side by side, for 25-years. But of course I worked with my Dad long before starting my career. For instance, from the time I was old enough to read I was marking tires at the wrecking yard. One childhood experience with him taught me what I call Crescent Wrench Generosity.
I was young, probably 8-years old. For whatever reason Dad had brought home a tank of acetelyn and oxygen (used for cutting iron). The tanks were in the side yard standing against the fence (which come to think of it was probably not a great way to make the neighbor happy).
Dad said he needed help. I was the courier between the tanks in the side yard and the tool box in a car parked out front. Now don’t ask me why he didn’t just carry the tool box over to the tanks … I have no idea. Maybe he thought the job would just take a tool so he didn’t bother. Whatever, the job was more complicated than he expected, so I was running back and forth with tools.
Mostly I just stood nearby and watched my Dad fuss with the tanks. He was crouching and at one point he turned to his left to reach for something. In doing so he accidentally bumped the tank with his right shoulder. It wobbled, then started to fall.
It all seems like slow motion now, but I stepped in and caught the tank before it could fall to the ground. Now there probably wasn’t much danger in the tank exploding — they are pretty well designed. For all I know they were empty. But there was certainly more risk than either of us wanted.
I remember the look on my Dad’s face. First confusion — he hadn’t realized how hard he had bumped the tank. Then fear — he realized what might have happened. Then relief — I had caught the tank. Then sheer utter pride and a huge smile.
After we laughed and chatted for a minute, Dad realized he really needed a crescent wrench and sent me to get one. I teased, “Just don’t knock anything over while I’m gone.” He laughed — Dad and I communicated by teasing.
But when I got to the tool box I had an awakening — what in the world was a crescent wrench? I honestly didn’t know. I knew what wrenches were, but a crescent wrench? No idea.
I looked through the tool box hoping for a clue when I got a big one: there was a silver tool with an adjustable wheel that clearly said “crescent wrench” on the handle. I grabbed it and ran back.
Handing it to my Dad I said, “That’s fun, I learned something new. Didn’t know this was a crescent wrench.” He smiled at me and said, “Good job, way to figure it out.” And of course I beamed.
But here’s the thing. For weeks after this my Dad bragged to everyone about me figuring out what a crescent wrench was. He poured on the praise in front of me. His friends, I’m sure, thought it was all a bit much. But they loved my Dad, and me, so they played along.
That generosity — that Crescent Wrench Generosity — went a long ways toward building my self-identity. I could figure things out. I could work. I could help. I could trust my instincts.
Curiously, my Dad only told a few family members about me catching the tank before it fell. Which is probably because he was slightly embarrassed! But of course, in my teasing way, I’d share the story just to see my Dad give his sheepish smile … which I knew was filled with his pride for me.
Crescent Wrench Generosity. It’s a real thing, though you might call it something else. Be generous with your praise and your affirmation. It’s a lesson I’m still learning, but it’s a lesson deep within me.