I Am My Mother's Son
/My favorite smell is sawdust. Odd, right? Not to me. See, as a young boy I woke up to the sound of a table saw as my Mom ripped down sheets of plywood and shaped long 2x4s into more workable pieces. On really special days, I’d be enjoying a Pop-Tart and Mom would come in from the garage. She’d thrust a hammer into my hand and say: “I need you to hammer holes into the living room wall after you eat.”
“OK!” — I mean, really, what young child isn’t going to get excited about engaging in permitted destruction?
In elementary and middle school, my Mom always got involved. From building community award-winning floats, to nature trail fencing, to birdhouses, to an interesting small-business venture where she and I built wooden locker dividers that were substantially more stable than the cruddy plastic things everyone bought. She’d rip down the boards, I’d drill in the L brackets, and we’d assemble a few dozen at a time in the garage on the weekends. For $40, I’d somehow manage to lug a bunch of these dividers to school, and install them during my break period in our customer’s locker.
Looking back, I learned several things from that experience:
If you’re organized, you can do a tremendous amount of physical labor without killing yourself.
People like quality products.
I’m quite good with my hands.
In the house we’ve been living in since the mid 90’s, Mom has:
Renovated the kitchen. Twice.
Remodeled the basement.
Installed a sauna, a hot tub, and two new showers (one tiled, one bricked).
Laid down hardwood floors.
Landscaped the entire front and back yards multiple times. Using me as conscripted labor.
Built four, interconnected decks in the backyard.
Created my first bookshelf for my room.
Developed a giant entertainment center for the living room.
Crafted a sun-drenched office space for my dad out of our old screened-in porch, complete with a hidden door.
Built my sister and I matching bunk-beds, in secret, for a special Christmas gift when we were little.
Hand-crafted a nearly two-story structure at Windsor Parkway for an elevated scoreboard for youth games.
Growing up, I saw my Mom most often with her hair tied up, work belt on, and hammering away at something. I’d see her whack or cut a finger, tape it up, and get back to her project. Those that know my family from a distance may think I get my toughness from my Dad. Nope, my Mom is the spine in me.
We share a passion for working with our hands, and I’ve felt more connected to my Mom since I started at lineman school and am getting my feet under me while working in the utility industry. Whether I’m jackhammering a hole, or stapling in pole grounds, I think of how much my Mom would enjoy this kind of work. Well, part of it. She contracts out electrical work due to a bad experience with a fork and an electrical socket in her childhood. She got all excited when I brought my tools home from school, and then we pilfered her workshop for a few more tools that I’d likely find useful.
Most meaningfully, I carry my grandfather’s measuring tape in my tool bag. Grandpa taught Mom how to build everything, and even showed me a more effective way to smash down walls as a child (you put down the hammer and ram a 2x4 into the wall). Now, I’m carrying on part of the family tradition in my pursuit of becoming a journeyman lineman.
I wear steel-toed boots, handle tools, and sometimes smash my finger. Then, I do what my Mom has always done: tape myself up and get back to work.
Happy Birthday Mom.
