I don't remember doing a whole lot with my Dad. I do remember his playing base ball with us. We had a game called "500" which was pretty special. All the neighborhood kids would join in.
I know that playing "500" is big deal because I have attempted to do the same with my kids and it went no where. So, for my own frame of mind, I must consider this a very difficult thing to do. :)
It was not so much the interaction with my Dad but what I was allowed to do that was very meaningful to me.
In our house on Harris I was able to move to the remaining corner of the basement which shared the workbench with storage and setup a bedroom.
I built a wall with 2 sliding doors (funded by my father). The doors weighed about 80 lbs and were warped. They certainly did NOT slide. My father thought they were fine doors. In a few years later I would actually make some decent doors, but these were NOT fine.
I cut up bamboo curtains and glued them to the side of the duct work. The glued bamboo didn't even make a good rectagle or cover all of the duct work. My Dad thought this was very ingenious. I can admit now that it was hideous.
Through the years, after another move to a larger home, I made several more rooms. Everything got better. All because my Dad allowed me to cut up his wood and assemble lousy projects. I don't know that he every said anything about about any of my projects except for the yellow oil based paint I used to ruin the red wood picnic bench without stiring the paint first.