It’s early on a Saturday morning in the middle of summer. Let’s say I’m twelve years old. After breakfast, I sneak away to try to play video games while ideas of what my friends and I might get into for the rest of the day start filling my head. Suddenly the muffled sound of power tools outside reaches my ears and the guilt sets in. My mom casually tells me to go check if my dad needs anything and my heart sinks.

There’s work to be done.

It was a common phrase in my house growing up that became a bit of a running joke, though it never really lost its meaning. Like most kids, I resented having to do housework. It didn’t seem fair at the time, especially compared to my friends that didn’t have the same obligations. As I grew older I realized it was simply everyone in the house playing their part and contributing to share the load. Just another part of growing up and learning responsibility. It isn’t always fun, but it’s necessary.

My dad is pretty hands-on with housework and has always had an ongoing "project" since I was a kid. Whether it was heavy landscaping on our hillside, installing a new bathroom in the basement or replacing the deck, there’s always “work to be done.” And when one project ends, the next begins. My brother and I were almost always extensively involved, much to our chagrin.

What I didn’t realize then was the education I was receiving. It’s not just the blue collar, do-it-yourself work mentality that I’m so grateful for now and that’s carried me through so many aspects of life so far, but the practical knowledge of learning to build things, use tools, and solve problems. And I realize I’ve been brainwashed from the reluctant helper to relishing the experience of DIY projects.

Last year my dad, brother and I turned storage space below our deck into a roofed, outdoor bar. I can remember scratching my head at how it might work. There was already a wooden patio of sorts in place, but it had long been filled with old bikes, a mini shed, tools and leftover materials from old projects. There was certainly work to be done. But for whatever reason, maybe we’ll call it maturation, this project left me with some realizations of why these moments are important and why they should absolutely be savored.

Connecting with someone while sharing a hobby or task is often more powerful than any conversation.

The garage has always held a place of cultural significance for fathers and men of a certain age, and my dad is no different. Whenever I’m home, I know where I can usually find him. It’s where he put a basketball in my hands and where he taught me the fundamentals of a real work out. It’s where he inspected my broken arm after a driveway skateboarding accident. It’s where I’d go to have my tie adjusted and collar flipped down. Even now I can smell the cigar smoke and cologne that envelopes the space where most of our projects start.

Maybe you’ve competed in team sports, served in the military, played in a band, or had a particularly close group of colleagues at your job – there’s just something about the comradery that builds between people pursuing a singular goal. And while my father isn’t overly quiet, and we communicate pretty well as it is, meticulous work has a language of its own. It’s the motion to hold a board that’s being cut or a finger pointing where the next screw should go. You fall into a rhythm where silence is not only normal but comfortable. And each mini-milestone speaks louder than any conversation could. Before you know it the base of a bar is up and you’ve shared in that satisfaction with someone else.

Having the buffer of work somehow makes deeper conversation easier, too. I mention something I like about a Springsteen song on the radio and suddenly I’m hearing about the first time my dad heard it live in Asbury Park in the '70s. It’s these small insights that help greater paint the image of every son’s hero.

Making anything on your own gives you a greater appreciation for the finished product.

This is pretty much the case for any DIY project. Unfortunately, I won’t be flipping houses on HGTV or opening a handmade furniture/artisanal donut store in a gentrified neighborhood near you. But that doesn’t mean there isn’t any satisfaction to be had.

Think of it like any other hobby or skill. Putting time into home improvement and construction projects requires practice, patience, and research, all of which can be built up and improved given enough time and practice. And honestly, having something you took the time to make with your own hands far outweighs the convenience of buying new or paying someone else to build it for you. Even if quality takes a hit at first.

For instance, dad and I took the time to build a stool each. Mine wasn’t perfect. I pushed a screw too far on one of the planks, causing it to split and fray. There’s a larger gap than I would have liked between the pieces that form the top. After heavy sanding and paint it’s not really visible, and probably wouldn’t be noticed by a casual visitor, but still – a flaw. Despite that, I still proudly marked my initials underneath it so I could use the stool I made.

And in finishing our bar, there's now a specific space for family and friend gatherings connected to the experience of building it. It’s become a staple for any home visit for me, and since its completion, there have been countless ongoing efforts of improvements and aesthetic tweaking. The walls are plastered with stickers from local breweries and ones we’ve traveled to. Family and friends gift items like bar mats, tin signs, coasters and of course beer. My dad made a custom cooler to match and recently installed a barn door to go with the space heater for winter use. I’m honestly waiting for him to apply for a liquor license at this point. The most recent gift tie-ins were branded t-shirts for everyone in our family. The catch? You have to visit to claim yours.

Life is short and beer breaks are important.

The best thing about building your very own bar is, without a doubt, getting to use it. It’s one thing to finish a long day of work and crack open a cold one. It’s another to get home and be able to enjoy a drink, conversation and music on a bar you just helped build. And if the construction taught me anything, it's that life is short – you can’t forget to take some time here and there to smell the hops.

Our worlds are moving at a faster and faster rate. I’m at the age now where half of my friends are married, and half of them are staring down the barrel of mortgages and parenthood. And my own changes and losses in the last few years have reinforced the notion to me of just how brief that time really is. It sounds cliché and a bit bleak, but nothing is really guaranteed for any of us. My father just turned 60, and the clock keeps running on my end, too, seemingly faster than ever.

My brother and I both live out of state from where we grew up, and I know trips home won’t always be as frequent as we’d like. On my most recent trip home it was tempting to want to see everyone and do everything. But spreading yourself too thin is not only extremely stressful and unenjoyable, and takes away from the present moment since you’re always thinking about the next. One thing I made sure to do, though? Check in on my father’s latest project. We spent the majority of one of the beautiful, crisp autumn days I was home lining up cuts, changing drill bits, and standing on ladders. For those few hours, I put my phone aside and leaned into sharing that uninterrupted time. And I wouldn’t want it any other way.

If I was on death’s doorstep and given the magical opportunity to have one last beer in one last place with anyone I wanted, I already know what I’d choose. To go back to the college bars full of blurry, carefree nights would be tempting. My favorite breweries and times spent there with close friends would give me pause. Pittsburgh’s Point State Park Fountain and a six pack at midnight dance through my head. Or maybe the beautiful shores of some European country I’ve never been to that’s perfected my favorite brew styles. But even that comes up short to a fridge full of High Life, my crooked stool, and my father tinkering with the next phase of the bar.

I encourage you to find that point of greater connection with family and close friends. It doesn’t necessarily have to be DIY projects. It can be anything you’re passionate about and willing to invest in. Just find your bar and don’t wait too long. After all, there’s work to be done.

What I Learned From Building a Bar with My Dad

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