As my best man, Kurt told a story at my wedding about my Pop that encapsulated his methods perfectly.
Pop was an engineer: organized, analytical, and processual. On and in his work benches you would see bins, labeled, organized, some dated, if appropriate.
Tools, always cleaned and returned (I can hear him now, "You can use anything you need, just take care of it and put it back when you're done.") The tools were engraved with dates. I have a screwdriver with "1957" engraved on its well-worn, beautifully-patina-ed wooden handle.
Lift the hood on any of our family cars and you'd find a strip of duct tape on the frame above the radiator with dates written in Sharpie, very neatly in his all-caps print, the dates of the latest maintenance done on belts, fluids, or filters.
Kurt's story told of the day of my birth, when Pop flipped me over, slapped a strip of duct tape on my butt and wrote, "October 17, 1964."


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