The Gunsmith
If he wasn’t in the garage tinkering on some part of a car, he was downstairs at his workbench. CD101.9 Smooth Jazz was always playing in the background.
I loved spending time with him in the basement workshop. Aside from being an amazing mechanic, Dad was a notable gunsmith. He literally started from scratch - a block of wood for the stock and a metal pipe for the barrel. Every night he carved, with chisels or an old dental drill, shaping and forming masterpieces. He would ‘blue’ the steel himself. This required special tanks set up in the garage. It was mesmerizing to watch him work. He paid attention to detail and maintained a steadfast commitment to finish the project.
I had difficulty staying on task as he did. We had conversations about this. He shared how my Grandfather would buy him models to build. Models of boats, cars and planes. Very intricate, detailed, and time consuming projects. He was not allowed to get a new model until the one he was working on was finished. It was a life lesson that imbedded in his core. Even prior to that, he would carve wood. On the shelf was a wooden horse. His first completed project. (This horse sits on my desk as a reminder of my father and his committed focus to details and followthrough.)
We spent hours together at that workbench. Some of my favorite memories were when we reloaded ammo. I was able to help. We measured and weighed gun powder, polished casings, removed old primers replacing them with new. Then sealed the bullet casing. I was nervous that a bullet would randomly go off... or that I would put something together incorrectly causing a massive explosion... But as I look back, there was no room for error. It was around this same time that I was the only girl on the school rifle team. All eyes were on me. There was no way not to feel their gaze. Dad just said, "Forget about them, baby. Just focus on the target." Even hunting with Dad offered beautiful memories. Thankfully, I never witnessed him killing anything. I am not so sure I would have faired well, and I would like to believe he knew that and spared me the experience. Mostly I remember our quiet walks through thick wooded mountains. These are cherished memories, chock full of life-lessons I carry with me to this day.
I loved spending time with him in the basement workshop. Aside from being an amazing mechanic, Dad was a notable gunsmith. He literally started from scratch - a block of wood for the stock and a metal pipe for the barrel. Every night he carved, with chisels or an old dental drill, shaping and forming masterpieces. He would ‘blue’ the steel himself. This required special tanks set up in the garage. It was mesmerizing to watch him work. He paid attention to detail and maintained a steadfast commitment to finish the project.
I had difficulty staying on task as he did. We had conversations about this. He shared how my Grandfather would buy him models to build. Models of boats, cars and planes. Very intricate, detailed, and time consuming projects. He was not allowed to get a new model until the one he was working on was finished. It was a life lesson that imbedded in his core. Even prior to that, he would carve wood. On the shelf was a wooden horse. His first completed project. (This horse sits on my desk as a reminder of my father and his committed focus to details and followthrough.)
We spent hours together at that workbench. Some of my favorite memories were when we reloaded ammo. I was able to help. We measured and weighed gun powder, polished casings, removed old primers replacing them with new. Then sealed the bullet casing. I was nervous that a bullet would randomly go off... or that I would put something together incorrectly causing a massive explosion... But as I look back, there was no room for error. It was around this same time that I was the only girl on the school rifle team. All eyes were on me. There was no way not to feel their gaze. Dad just said, "Forget about them, baby. Just focus on the target." Even hunting with Dad offered beautiful memories. Thankfully, I never witnessed him killing anything. I am not so sure I would have faired well, and I would like to believe he knew that and spared me the experience. Mostly I remember our quiet walks through thick wooded mountains. These are cherished memories, chock full of life-lessons I carry with me to this day.
I even value the broken legs. Dad pointed them out. Said he was upset as a child when they broke, but he glued it back together.
For me, it is a reminder that things don't have to be perfect to be of value.
I am glad it happened... it was another opportunity for a merit full conversation with Dad.
