The End of an Era: Lessons I Learned from My Dad
6 min read
There he was just standing there with his arms crossed; he was staring into the space in front of him. A passing patron might confuse his look with that of someone going through spring cleaning or maybe just someone reorganizing and trying to figure out what to do next. But it was at that moment that I too stopped. I spent the afternoon trying to be helpful suggesting things that he could do to make moving these boxes easier. It didn’t dawn on me that as he was looking at the boxes in front of him that I wasn’t seeing what he saw. It was at that moment that I finally did. My father was staring at 30 years of working as a locksmith coming to an end. It’s strange to look at one’s life’s work and have it amount to a few boxes and a surplus of a few thousand uncut key blanks. I’m sure that was what he was thinking too. He didn’t need to say anything for me to understand that. The reality is that in a few more days my father’s key shop will be closing. The family business is done. And when that shop finally closes, so will my childhood go with it.
I had grown up with the locksmith trade always being the center of family conversations. For me, life is all about locks and keys. It’s a very strange, but very real metaphor that is still ingrained into my psyche. I guess being the son of a locksmith brings with it a sense examining security in such a way that doesn’t come with too many other professions save law enforcement. But whereas law enforcement might deal with law, we dealt with people’s homes, their cars, and ultimately the security of their stuff. I cannot look at these things today without thinking of my dad not just because he was the guy everyone came to when they needed keys, but because he was also the guy that everyone came to when they needed someone to tell them everything was going to be all right. If I have any regrets it’s that I never followed into his footsteps. It wasn’t that I didn’t try. It wasn’t that I wasn’t groomed for taking over the job. It was just that as much as it was a part of my life, I never had the touch or skill that he did for picking locks or magically figuring out how to make a key by eyeing a key blank and using a file. In short it was a part of me, but never in me to do it.
But I fear that being a locksmith is a part of a trade that is going away. Maybe it’s going the way of the old hardware stores and being replaced by the Home Depots and Walmarts. When I was in high school and in college I would sometimes sit in my father’s key shop and listen to him talk to his customers. He was someone who gave friendly advice and sometimes free service for repeat customers in need of his skill. But he wasn’t just offering advice. He was teaching them. I watched the way he dealt with people as he created relationships, reminding people that the keys he touched were guaranteed to work in a world that didn’t have many guarantees at all. So there he would be spending his days working hard and being courteous…teaching people how to care about and maybe even protect what they had. In many ways for him this wasn’t just a job. This was a specialized service. This was who he was twenty four hours a day, seven days a week for as long as I could remember as evidenced by his taking emergency calls during all hours and even during the holidays. People would lock themselves out of cars or homes and then the phone would ring and we would just know that it was time to go back to work. And as soon as he would hang up the phone, he was rushing out the door. When I was a kid, my dad was a hero. I just didn’t know it until I got much older.
I feel like nobody told me this day would come. I mean I always intuitively knew that there would come a day when my father would stop being “the locksmith” and suddenly become someone else. I just didn’t think it would come so soon. But there I was talking to him about what the next phase would hold for him. We talked about his future. And then it dawned on me that it was the first time I saw him as vulnerable. When you’re a kid you think you’re parents are bigger than life and they’re your rock. They’re your biggest fan and you truly know in your heart of hearts that they will be there should you stumble to help pick you back up. That feeling stays with you well into adulthood. But nobody told me that there would one day come a time when I would look around and see that it would be my turn to be his rock…not just his son, but suddenly and swiftly his friend and his cheerleader. As we continued packing his boxes I was reminded of how sometimes the essence of life sometimes resembles a Robert Frost poem where we’re observers in people’s most private moments…so much so that we almost feel invisible – like an outsider wondering if they even notice us noticing. That’s what I think of when I think about that moment when my dad was looking at those boxes…that and that poem by Robert Frost.
Whose woods these are I think I know.
His house is in the village, though;
He will not see me stopping here
To watch his woods fill up with snow.
My little horse must think it queer
To stop without a farmhouse near
Between the woods and frozen lake
The darkest evening of the year.
He gives his harness bells a shake
To ask if there’s some mistake.
The only other sound’s the sweep
Of easy wind and downy flake.
The woods are lovely, dark and deep,
But I have promises to keep,
And miles to go before I sleep,
And miles to go before I sleep.
One of the hardest things for the children of men to discover is the first time they realize that their parents are not just human, but vulnerable and needing our help…maybe for the first time. As I spent the day with my dad and I couldn’t help but wonder if the son of a locksmith could contribute anything else to his father’s life or his legacy in order to let him know that he too cared and appreciated what he had done for him. The business had provided an opportunity for me to chase my dreams and become something else. If I’m sorry about anything it was that I too had to pick something that I could do and a label that I could be twenty four hours a day. It would just be something different. As we spent our time together – I truly understood that some of the most cherished moments of my life were spent with my father – my encourager, my rock, and my friend.
A few more boxes, here and there.
My father’s life, my heart does care.
May God grant us strength and speed,
For inside me lives your every deed.
