“It’s all about having the right tools, Butch,” my father used to say to me. He used to call me Butch because I guess he thought that made me sound more rough and tumble than I actually was.
“And, Butch,” he’d said, “if the only tool you have is a hammer, you’ll treat everything as if it were a nail.”
My father was very handy around the house and he was always building things and fixing things. I did not inherent that skill set and preferred instead to wield a pen rather than a hammer.
After I grew up, got married, and bought a house, though, it became clear to me that learning to fix things and build things had a certain value. So I taught myself how to be handy around the house. I bought all kinds of tools and became quite adept. I was able to impress my wife and kids with my handiwork.
But as I grew older, I became less inclined to use my hammer and more interested, once again, to use my pen. Ultimately I sold or gave away most of my tools, keeping only a hammer, a screwdriver, and a wrench.
My wife has been on my back recently because I haven’t yet gotten around to fixing some shelving in the pantry that had broken. The next time my wife nagged me about the pantry shelving, I remembered What my father used to says about hammers and nails.
I turned to her and said, “The only tool I have left, dear, is a hammer, and right now you’re looking an awful lot like a large and very annoying nail.”
Written for the Mindlovemisery’s Menagerie Tale Weaver prompt.