"GET ME A B-F-H!"

If my dad had a mutant power, it was his ability to fix anything mechanical. Of course, my wife believes this is a mutant gene that I don’t possess and she would be correct (she’s always correct….its horrible for me). Anywho, my father was a mechanic working in a small shop that he built himself, earning a good living turning wrenches and getting dirty.

Phil (what other non-siblings called my dad) wasn’t just any run-of-the-mill mechanic. He was the best. He wasn’t just a Ford guy or a Chevy guy or a Studebaker guy, he was all of those. His experience and knowledge concerning cars was unmatched. My father’s shop was where you took your car when the other mechanic(s) failed. I wish I would’ve paid more attention to what my dad was doing underneath all those cars, because I’m terrible when it comes to fixing anything with four wheels. However, I still got quite the education from my dad, just not his mutant power.

One of my dad’s favorite stories was about a mechanic who was driving out in the country and noticed a farmer trying to get his tractor to start.

“Need some help?” asked the mechanic as he pulled up along side the farmer.

“Darn thing won’t turn over!” said the farmer. So the mechanic got out of his car and walked up to the tractor to give it good look. He got in real close to the engine and tugged on the belts.

“Gotta hammer?” asked the mechanic. Hammer in hand he told the farmer to try and turn it over again. Just as the farmer turned the key - WHAM! – the mechanic hit the engine block with the hammer and the old tractor roared to life.

“Hey, thanks!” said the farmer. “What do I owe ya?” he asked.

“20 dollars.”

“20 dollars?” asked the farmer “You only used a hammer!”

“Tell you what.” said the mechanic “I’ll only charge you a dollar for hitting the engine with a hammer.”

“That’s more like it.” said the farmer.

“But,” the mechanic interrupted “for knowing where to hit the engine so your tractor would start, that’ll cost you 19 dollars.”

That story always stuck with me because it goes along with one of my earliest memories of helping out my dad in the shop. I was 6 or 7 years old and it was my job to fetch dad whatever tool he needed as he was busy underneath a car trying to install a new catalytic converter. Apparently, it wasn’t cooperating very well and he was letting the part know that he wasn’t happy. He was using some “verbal grease” to relieve some tension. Finally, he came to the decision that the be-all-end-all of tools was needed.

“Chris! Go get me a B-F-H!” he yelled.

“What’s a B-F-H?”

“A Big Friggin’ (he didn’t say friggin’) Hammer! Now, go get it!”

I went and grabbed the biggest hammer I could find and took it to my father. “Here’s your Big Friggin’ (I didn’t say friggin’) Hammer, dad!” I exclaimed with the biggest smile on my face.

“Thanks.” He said as he poked his head out from under the car, “And don’t tell your mother.” Then he gave me a wink.

I felt like I was accepted into an exclusive club. I just said “friggin’” and got away with it! I thought. I figured my Man Card would be in the mail when I got home. I was so happy.

Oh and by the way, the B-F-H worked. One swing and the catalytic converter set itself right onto the bolts. The B-F-H always works.