The toaster was a Sunbeam Model T-20B manufactured in the 1950s. This was the only toaster I knew in my youth. Many years later my mother told me a story about it. She said that one day when I was an infant my dad came home from work with a new toaster he had just picked up. My father had a taste for the finer things that pushed the boundaries of his budget, and my mother was upset when she learned that it cost the equivalent of one week’s salary. Nonetheless, they kept it, and I still have it.
It was a very fine toaster indeed. It’s operation was elegant. There was no plunger to push the toast down. All you did was place the slices of bread in the slots and watch with satisfaction as they slowly descended like a force of nature. And when it was done, the toast didn’t just pop up, it slowly rose up with elegant dignity. It must’ve had pulleys, springs, governors, and latches, all especially designed to perform such a marvellous feat. It was a thing to behold, and I’ve never seen another one like it..
Dad was delighted by mechanical things, and he taught me how to fix things by way of understanding how they function. He also taught me how to use hand tools with the finesse to notice the feeling of the materials under the tool. He had many faults, but he was gentle and attentive to detail. I really have no complaints.
In the summer before he died, he told me about the birds and bees. This was new information for me at the age of 12, but I was mostly struck by how vulnerable and awkward he was while conveying this information. We were sitting on the side of my bed, which was at the front of the house, while simultaneously my friend was standing on the front lawn yelling up to the open window because he wanted me to come out to play. It was synchronicity in action: I was shown a stark choice between continued childhood and the ways of the world, and I'll admit, I was torn.
He was also a talented pianist, and I remember my six year old rapture lying on the hardwood floor under a grand piano as it imploded me with Rachmaninoff. Dad had a keen aesthetic sense for both music and machines. His taste seemed impeccable to me, at least until my older brother brought Ray Charles and Miles Davis into the house. There's beauty in many shapes and sizes.
The piano was gorgeous, and that toaster did everything you’d want to toaster to do. And it did it all with real style: The only thing it didn’t do was sing Oh What a Beautiful Morning as the golden toast was rising. Peace be with us all.