I
so much want to be one of those men who can build things. To be a craftsman who
takes a piece of wood and creates a beautiful piece of furniture is a dream
I’ve long held. The truth of the matter, however, is that I am less than
capable when it comes to designing things and then constructing them. In fact,
I’ve always found using tools difficult and working in construction situations
demanding.
I
never learned how to do things with tools. Daddy never had the time to teach
us, and even if he had, he wouldn’t do it. He believed that things should be
done correctly, and that required calling in a professional. The only
successful things I ever built was a teepee from pine branches and a small
enclosure made with small pine tree trunks. Jim, Bill Burns, and I spent
several afternoons working on those projects. They eventually collapsed as the
limbs lost their needles and the logs rotted.
I
worked construction one summer with a man who’d been my boss at the Holiday Inn
the year before. He tirelessly worked to teach me how to do things, but I
wasn’t crazy about the lessons. On one occasion, he sent me up a ladder to nail
soffit boards to rafters. I am fearful of heights, so the job was scary from
the very beginning. Once up on the ladder, I tried to drive nails into the
boards, but they bounced and fell to the ground with every hammer blow. It
didn’t help that I was nailing these things above my head.
After
finally driving the nails, Frank told me to do the next board. I began coming
down when he said, “Stay where you are.” Then he told me pull the ladder back
and to set it several inches to the right. I told him I was afraid that the
ladder would fall. At that point, Frank begins shaking the ladder until I do as
he instructed.
On
another occasion, Frank sent me to nail board on a flat roof because I was left
handed and could reach it. I carefully maneuvered to the spot and began
kneeling on a rafter to get into position. My feet slipped, and just like Clark
Griswold, I crashed through the ceiling of a bedroom and found myself stuck.
Frank came to my aid, all the while sprinkling his laughter with profanities.
One
summer I helped Uncle Wayne roof his house. We worked from daylight until early
noon. He was into his 60’s and worked circles around me. My uncle was a quiet
man with the patience of Job. He tried to teach me what to do, but it seemed as
if he redid most of my work. I suppose my only help was keeping him company and
being there to call an ambulance if he fell off the roof or had a heart attack.
In
recent years, I’ve built a few things, but they are what I call “primitive.”
That best describes things that are just a tad off measurement-wise, even
though I’ve measured multiple times and cut once. My cuts with a saw are never
straight, something I blame being left-handed and using a right-handed saw. I
use twice as many nails and continue to add wood until pieces seem sturdy
enough to hold a glass of tea or a hardback book. They weigh tons.
Last
month, I took a stab at building a drying rack. As usual, pieces didn’t match
exactly. One piece warped so that the thing won’t close completely. It looks
okay, and I enjoyed the work. Nailing the side boards, I managed to shoot one
into my finger, even after I’d checked to make sure my hand was out of range
from the nail gun. I also made a frame from wood from a scrapped pallet. It
turned out well.
I
plan to continue to work with wood and tools. Say a prayer for me that I don’t
shoot more nails into body parts. Also, cross your fingers that I might build
quality piece of furniture before I die.
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