Dad Was a Carpenter
A father, a son, and the blueprints for a meaningful life.
Welcome, Log in
As I stood there in the garage I remembered that piece of plywood through all its evolutions, from the moment Dad picked it out at the lumberyard until the moment I found myself holding the last slice of it thirty years later.
I had share most of my life with this piece of wood as shaped by my father's hands. Now at last I held a remnant of it, the craftsman's hands finally still and the wood at rest, no longer to be cut and nailed, sanded and painted.
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