greving and son...

My dad gradually, and actually quite painfully, bought his father's sheet metal business from his older brothers one by one over the last, I don't know how many, years. Of course as each would retire, the remaining sons would pool their resources and buy the elder brother's share of the company. Doesn't take a math genius to calculate that dad being the youngest of the four would shoulder the last phase alone. Wouldn't have been so difficult had the economy remained as strong as it had been when the honed skills of a craftsman were in demand and quality appreciated. However, as the industry modernized and non-union workers offered more competitive bids, dad ended up paying dearly for a business that didn't always compensate. We didn't know until after he died how tight things were when mom was so ill and he was balancing final payments to an older brother with her medical costs. Not to mention the tension of running a small business and caring for her through the day. He never complained. I cry just thinking about it. He worked so very hard.

Last spring was the first time he showed us around the shop. I don't think we ever really spent much time there unless we just dropped by to tell him something. I don't ever remember going upstairs and certainly never fully understood how hard he worked. While I spent my teen years sunbathing on our roof at home, thankful for the heat of the summer sun, he spent countless hours, year after year, kneeling on one hot roof after another in the scorching sun handling metal of all things. Not to mention the hours inside a warehouse forming innumerable gutters with no air-conditioning in the summer and little heat in the winter or hauling furnaces in and out of one basement after another. I wish I had got that as a kid. Even as a young adult. But I didn't really "get" it until that day we walked through. Thank God I did. And thank God I was able to thank him. Man I miss him. I really, really miss him.

Tomorrow morning we meet with a man who really wants to buy the shop and adjacent apartment. Nice guy. And it turns out he's the same guy who approached dad a couple years ago about it. It has a nice feel to it honestly. He knew dad and I know dad was interested in selling it to him at the time, we just got stuck on pricing for the antiquated machines. Both properties have seen better days but they certainly have potential for someone who knows what they're doing. We don't have a clue how much to ask and he's walking through my door tomorrow with what I'm sure will be a fair offer. I'm just struggling with the fact that more than likely it isn't going to be at all what it cost my father, nor will it bring any justice to the fact that he always seemed to get the s--- end of the stick, as my grandfather used to say. So you might say a couple prayers Monday morning, that we'll sense a peace about the offer and that it might be something dad would have felt proud to accept. It really isn't about the money. It's about a father who didn't live long enough to reap his efforts and the guilt I feel for receiving an inheritance I didn't earn. There's a sermon in there somewhere, just not tonight.