My dad wasn’t a mechanic. He didn’t work in a repair shop. I wouldn’t call him a gearhead.
And yet, he was always the first call when someone had a flat tire. He was on speed dial for any neighbor seeking a helping hand, a little encouragement or guidance during tough times.
My dad was plenty busy, running two businesses and raising eight children – yes, eight – in Lansdowne, a blue-collar town just outside Baltimore, Maryland.
That didn’t stop him from playing Mr. Fix It whenever possible.