Total pages in book: 48
Estimated words: 45573 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 228(@200wpm)___ 182(@250wpm)___ 152(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 45573 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 228(@200wpm)___ 182(@250wpm)___ 152(@300wpm)
And that’s when it hits me. Memories flood me of growing up and time with my dad. The smell of wood and sawdust stirs all around me. For just a second, I let the memories sweep over me and I bask in them. They are some of the best times of my life.
Chris comes to stand next to me. “We’re at the wood shop.”
My mouth drops. “But what are we doing here?”
He puts his hand on my back. “Today, we’re going over where everything is. I’m going to show you the layout and where everything is located. Depending on how much time you got, we may even try making something.”
“Making something?” I ask him.
He leads me into the barn, and the smell is even heavier in here. “Yeah, make something. Everything is state of the art. There’s been additions to everything. Safety guards included. And braille instructions for every machine.”
I stutter as I try to process what he’s saying. “But… I can’t… I mean, come on, I can’t make anything.”
His reply is instant. Almost like he was prepared with the fact I would fight him on this. “According to your file, you were a master craftsman.”
“I was, but that was before….”
I let my voice trail off because I don’t need to finish the sentence. We both know what I was going to say.
Chris starts to move around the room. “Look, it’s up to you. You won’t be the first blind guy to turn out furniture and wood projects. This is the therapy that Walker wanted you to do, but if you don’t want to, I’m not going to make you.”
“Therapy? This is my therapy?”
He laughs. “Yeah, this is your therapy. I’m a licensed therapist that also enjoys working with my hands. Now I don’t think I’m as good as you, but I’m good.”
I cross my arms over my chest. “Are you bullshitting me right now? This is my therapy?”
He walks toward me. “I’m not bullshitting you. This is your therapy. Look at it this way. We’re going to talk and work through some things, but we’re also going make some cool stuff too.” He pauses for just a second. “Now are you in or not?”
I would give anything to see the room right now. I want to see the machines, to inspect each piece of wood but I know that’s not possible, and wishing for it is not going to make it happen. “I’m in… but you’re going to have to show me everything. Take me back to the door and start from there.”
Chris laughs and claps his hands together. “All right, let’s do this.”
We spend the next few hours just exploring the small barn. Chris is patient and shows me everything. He even tests me out on where things are and how to get to them, turn them on and all the safety features.
It’s midday before I realize that my cheeks are hurting from smiling so much. Walker got it right again; this is exactly what I needed.
“All right,” Chris starts, interrupting my thoughts. “So what do you think? Let’s make something and then call it a day.”
“Make something?” I ask, freezing in my tracks.
He clasps me on the shoulder. “I’m right here, man. I’m going to walk you through it.”
I suck in a nervous breath. “Okay.”
“Yes!” he says, sounding more excited than me. “All right, so let’s start simple. I’m talking grade school level project. What do you think?”
I nod my head. “Right. I have an idea.”
He claps his hands together excitedly. “Let’s do it.”
I tell him what I’m doing as I do it. I walk around the room and grab two pieces of wood first, one 2 X 4 and one dowel rod.
I go over to the table saw and stand in front of it nervously.
I can hear Chris breathing over my shoulder, and when I hesitate, he says, “You can do this, Jason. I won’t let you cut off a finger.”
I nod and turn on the machine. I put on my safety glasses and measure the wood where I need it and lay it flat on the machine. After undoing the safety guard on the blade, I make sure my fingers are out of the way and then slowly cut the piece of wood into a square block. I measure and keep going, cutting each to the same size. I should probably feel embarrassed to be making such an easy project, but this may just be the biggest and most profound project of my life.
I cut the end of the dowel rod next.
When the pieces are cut, I grab the nail and hammer and connect the dowel to the square block.
When I’m done, I hold it up like I’m inspecting it. “How does it look?”
Chris pats my shoulder. “It looks good, man. How many of those did you make growing up?”