A woodworker's club.
The first time I went to work with my dad, I was five years old. From that day on, I looked forward to going with him again and again. I can remember many afternoons climbing up on the roof and watching for him to come home. He was my hero, a master woodworker and everything I wanted to be. Whether it was in the garage, in a house he was working on, or in a school where he taught Building Trades, my dad always had a shop. I realized later that not everyone had the advantage of accessible tools, shop space, and instruction.
