For My Father’s Workbench

My father spent his life working with his hands fixing cars, repairing tools, and helping neighbors when something broke. Michigan felt like the right place for his story: a state built by workers, makers, mechanics, factory hands, and families who kept going.

I inscribed this hex for him, for the old workbench in our garage, and for every quiet person who built a life without ever asking to be remembered.

He never wanted a monument.
But I wanted his name to have a place in America’s 250-year story.