The Work of my Father's Hands

The Work of my Fathers Hands

My father's hands are gnarled and weathered. After 45 years of carpentry, his fingerprints have long since been smoothed away and his lungs are filled with the sawdust that permeates the air of his shop. It is the price of a lifetime of hard work and must be paid. Yet he seems content to pay his debt, and knows it to be a fair trade. He loves his work and has spent many hours in his shop making kitchens and cabinets. My childhood is drenched with the lacquer and stain he uses. Though it is pungent and unpleasant to some, it makes me feel warm and content It is the smell of my youth and comforts me. It is the echo of my father's love.

As I look around my house, I see the evidence of his long experience. There is a handmade piece in almost every room of my house. Each piece marks a chapter of my life and bookmarks moments in time. They are wooden monuments that silently speak to me, reminding me where I came from. The desk and dresser from my youth are now in my daughter's room. They watched over me as I cried and celebrated the dramas of middle school. They now stand sentinel over my daughter, and are the trappings that surround her teenage drama. They provide her a place to store her childhood treasures. The 3 story Barbie doll house, and small table and chairs that I played on as a child, still sit at my parent's home to entertain their grandchildren.

I see my story in every wooden masterpiece. The cedar chest holds my senior year hopes, and the coffee table, my newlywed dreams. There are shelves and handmade toys all around me. They are comforting and familiar. They are what makes my house my home.

I see my father's love in every plane and angle. They are not just wooden treasures. They represent his life and love. They are the extra hours spent in a dusty shop to give his children something beautiful. They are pieces of himself and they will be passed through the generations. His craftsmanship will be proudly displayed by his progeny; a conversation piece to be admired. They are his soul and his legacy. It is through them, that I know my father loves me.