My FatherMy Father can fix anything. It can make the closet door, bathroom, light switch work again. He's got toolboxes full of wrenches, cold metal sockets and screwdrivers that turn any bolt or screw, whining saws that cut wood into any shape, and calipers with dials that spin in fits and starts to tell him what's wrong in any string. It has steel, rubber and wooden hammers. Pliers that cut, bend and twist. Clamps, drills, belts, punches, tapes, glues, oils and jellies. A filing cabinet with tiny drawers filled with washers, nuts, zippers and bits of colored thread that he rolls between his thumb and forefinger until he knows which one is right for the job. I follow him around the house, handing him tools and watching him put them to work. His arms and hands, rigid spirit...