I don't know anybody whose dad didn't have a coffee can full of old screws; and I don't know any guy who isn't keeping the tradition alive. We keep them forever, not because we really need the screws - moms keep organized little plastic boxes of carefully sorted hardware for when we actually do something - but because every time we pour half the can out on a table in the garage and start sifting through them, we remember our dads doing the same thing in the basement or in the shed at the lake or out in the garage back home.
We save the old tools too - wooden handled screwdrivers with split handles and hand drills and chisels and things; not half as good with them as our fathers, but we use them just to remember the times our dads spend teaching us how to do things we would need to do for ourselves and for others when we become men and it would our turn to be fathers to our children. Our wives try and throw old things out, but we don't let them. It isn't about the useless stuff that is is in the can or the toolbox, it is the memories and the words that come out when we pour that can of old screws out on the table like our dads used to do and start sifting through them.
Even as old farts, we need to think of our dads every so often to be reminded of what is is that we need to do to be men - good men. There isn't anybody else to tell us; nobody else knows.