Whatchamacallits have names

No, the title of this morning's gem doesn't contain the name of a city in Michigan. It's that catch all phrase used to indicate things for which no name can be remembered. (Boy, that's a pretty good grammatical construct!)

I share a common experience with untold millions of kids through the ages - helping their fathers with a project. Now I don't think they called them projects back then. All I know is after a few memorable "do I have to's," I would end up "helping" my Dad do something around the house. Mind you this was in the days before Home Depot staffed its stores with "experts" - the definition of which is anyone who refers you to the isle with hammers no matter what the task. (That's part of a longer joke, but I have a lot of tasks to do today and can't go into it.) Helping, of course, can be more fully appreciated as waiting around for your Dad to ask for something.

Now I can't prove that nationality has anything to do with it but my father was German, born and bred. He later became a US citizen and very quickly learned how to lose his German accent. But not having grown up in the English language tools tended to become lumped individually into a group called "whatchamacallit". The most horrific scenario, of course, was to have a project take place away from the basement where all the tools were. (Ever wonder why professionals carry tool boxes around with them?)

So at some point and inevitably the project would come to a halt, because Dad needed a tool. Without even taking his eyes away from what he was doing he would utter, "Go get that thing, you know, the whatchamacallit." At first I would ask him to be more specific but after a few stern "Just go get it!" responses, I remember wandering down into the basement to retrieve the whatchamacallit, but after a few worrisome minutes, Dad would come down, pass right by me, reach into the pile of tools (is it okay if I don't have to keep writing whatchamacallits?), find the one he wanted, and rush back to the "job". While I am not the brightest bulb on the block I am not the dimmest either. It didn't take long for me simply walk into the basement and clear a path for him to get by me to the tool bench and wait for him.

I remember that after one particulary painful session accompanied by a few tears, I actually convinced him to be more specific when he told me what he wanted. He agreed. (Later on I made up a saying that it was a lot worse to fail at something that you don't know how to do than it is to fail at something that you do know how to do. Re the first instance you not only fail but you feel stupid as well.)

I can't tell you how glad I was the first time my Dad asked me to get a wrench.

Those of you who have been here before know full well what happened next. If you've never been here before and want proof that this is a pretty universal experience, ask your Dad, if you are lucky enough to still have him around, what it was like helping his Dad around the house.

So, whatchamacallits have names.

And, by the way, so do people.

My dad's name was Herman.

Sometimes I wish that we had had more time to learn the names of all those tools together.

Happy Father's Day