It felt weird, knocking on the door of my old bedroom. I heard “Come in” and there was my dad, sitting on a stool at his workbench with a bourbon and coke.
It was 1990 or so, and when I moved out after college, my old bedroom had been transformed into his man cave. Gone were my posters, fish tanks, books, models. In their place was a big workbench, covered with radio-controlled airplane stuff. He had decorated the room with awards and plaques from his working years and WWII memorabilia.
He was retired, and he and my mom would host weekend family cookouts. The kids would swim in the pool; the ladies would gab; and Pop, me, and my brother Doug would sit on sand chairs under the seagrape tree nursing a few cold ones. It was a happy time.
Last year, Doug sent a birthday card and three gifts. We send the same card back and forth each year with new content; this time the greeting ended with “…and a light so you’ll always find your way home.” We have a lot of inside jokes, wondered what he had sent. It was all stuff from Pop’s man cave.
Item #1 was the blueprint of our house from 1968 with all of Pop’s notes on it. Item #2 was a little brass lamp he had made in high school shop class which his mom kept burning in their front window while he was away in WWII. The last item was his retro 70s bible (“The Way”), with meaningful passages marked by Pop.
I was struck by the connection. Plans for a home on earth. A light my dad saw as he returned home from the service on a frigid Christmas Eve in 1945. And a guidebook to another home as though he’s still here with me….here, check this passage out…and this one…and that one.
Food for thought during my next woodworking project 
My little corner of the world 
Beautifully written story. I feel like I was there!
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