(and here is what he wrote:) What Dad Taught Me About Lending and Borrowing Tools The loan of a tool is a sacred, holy thing, especially when it involves that kind of rare, extremely hard-to-replace, vintage implement that does the job oh-so-much-better than anything manufactured in the last half-century (and you know the type I'm talking about; they're always rust-colored without actually being rusty). Man, that's an expression of trust! I was brought up by a second-generation, Italian-American Dad in a paper paint hat, shoulder-strap undershirt and leather tool-belt. Grandpa wore the same uniform. Both made their livings as disciplined craftsmen and both treated their tools like a priest treats golden altar utensils. When he gave me my first bicycle, Dad, in ceremonial solemnity, withdrew from his tool cabinet, a satchel-grip of ancient hand tools—and with laser beam eye-contact, gave me permission to use them as I needed, explicitly conditional on their diligent care and