A Father’s Gift

When I was about 10 years old, we had several days of very heavy rain in January followed by freezing cold temperatures. The rain left large water puddles in yards and fields. The freezing cold temperatures turned them into skating rinks, so I searched through our attic and found some old ice skates. Then I headed for one of those frozen water puddles, and I learned how to ice skate. It came naturally to me, and I enjoyed the rhythmic gliding across the ice. I even went out in the dark after dinner, and skated for hours with only the light of the moon. I felt a transcendent joy and peace as I glided across the ice.

The next winter, we didn’t have the rain in winter, so there were no ice puddles in our yard for me to skate on. Fortunately, my mother was willing to take me to frozen lakes or public skating rinks in nearby towns. So I enjoyed another season of ice skating.

The next year, my parents gave me a skating rink for Christmas. I didn’t ask for it, because I didn’t even know such a thing existed. It was like an above ground swimming pool that was only six inches deep. It consisted of an aluminum wall and a plastic liner to hold the water. The next day, my father and I set out to put up my skating rink.

Dad had already selected a nice, flat area of the yard to put the skating rink. However, it had to go on perfectly flat ground. So we headed to a nearby gravel pit in my Dad’s stake truck, and he purchased a load of sand. Then we drove home and dumped the sand where the skating rink was to go. We pushed that sand around with shovels and rakes and got it roughly level. Dad set up a line level and measured the distance with the folding ruler that he always used. However, that wasn’t good enough. So he got out his 4′, wooden level to check the sand. Then he got a construction rake to begin the final work. First though, he explained to me the difference between a construction and a garden rake. Then he checked the sand in different places with the level, and he used the rake to make it perfectly level, adding a quarter inch here and removing an eighth of an inch there. Then he turned the rake over and used the flat side to smooth the sand as flat and level as a billiard table. As I watched, I learned how to use a rake. But more than that, I admired my father’s work. The rake in his hand was like a paint brush in the hands of skilled artist or a violinist’s bow.

That day I spent one of the best days of my life with my father, and that was a gift. However, the best gift that day – and the best gift he ever gave me – was an appreciation for skilled labor. I learned that someone who makes his living with a hammer or a trowel has just as much talent as the man who throws a football or hits a plays a violin for a living. I learned that there is a dignity in working with one’s hands that is just as great as being an executive. The man or woman who builds and creates with their hands uses a tremendous amount of skill and knowledge.

I do not work with my hands for a living, but I do use them for maintaining my home and garden. Every year, I plant about 250 annual flowers in my garden, and the work of preparing the soil for planting always finishes with a rake. I rake out the big clods of dirt, then I turn the rake over and rake it back and forth across the soil to make it smooth and level. Then I smile and remember my father’s gift.