My Toy Truck
When I was very young. I watched my grandfather make this wooden truck, my eyes were wide open to every move he made. I’d never seen anyone make a toy car from wood before. I watched as he cut out the frame with the band saw. That saw was very sharp but I watched my grandfather move it around till the full-body took shape. Then he ran the main body through a wheel type grinder with to sand off the rough edges. I watched as he continued to put the pieces together. Finally, I had my truck. Albeit it’s missing a fender or two over the past several decades of moving, it’s still one of my favorite possessions. It was a gift from my grandfather that started out as a block of wood but was something that I could never buy from a store. It was all mine.
And while it was extraordinary to watch someone make a toy truck from wood, as I grew up and my brain matured, I came to appreciate the talent and skill of not only a carpenter who happened to by my grandfather, but one who made me a priceless toy just for me, and him being blind didn’t stop him a bit.
So what’s my excuse for not giving, for not acting? I don’t think I have any.