For over forty years I didn’t know the story behind this bench. It was last Saturday when I glanced out the front door and saw it sitting in the front yard.
A moment later John walked through the garage door into the kitchen. He walked to the front door and peered outside and said, “That’s the bench I made.”
The last few weekends, John has been organizing and cleaning out the back garage to make room to store our van that pulls our R-pod camper. The week before he told me he was going to throw the bench away.
He shared with me that he made it when he was either fourteen or fifteen, he couldn’t quite remember, but that would make the bench about forty-five years old now. As a teenager, to earn money he would cut the lawn of area neighbors. He would then go to a department store we had at the time named Prange’s, where he would buy a tool to add to his growing collection.
He’d often see patterns to build things in magazines. At that time, you’d have to order the pattern by sending in money and wait for it to arrive in the mail.
When he told me about the bench he shared with me how he has always loved to build things. Then, with a bit of disappointment in his voice, he said, “But my parents sent me to college.”
I heard his voice shake and I knew this was emotional for him. Before I finish the story though, I feel it’s important to say that his parents did the best they knew to do and what they felt was right in helping John to succeed.
But college wasn’t for John and six weeks later he quit. He wanted to build things. But yet he couldn’t help but feel he somehow disappointed his parents and that perhaps they didn’t understand who he was. Again, no shame or blame, it was just the path John was meant to walk in understanding just like I have had to do, and so many of us, that no matter what, we are fine just as we are.
Looking at the bench again I said, “What are you going to do with it?”
“I’m going to cut it up and throw it away.”
“No! Don’t do that,” I pleaded.
This bench is more than just a bench, I thought. It’s who John is. I’ve watched him since 1995 when he first started his construction business and grow into the master carpenter he is today. It hasn’t been easy. There have been many ups and downs and a time or two that he almost threw in the towel. But he kept going and living this dream that means so much to him.
After John went back into the garage to work on more cleaning and organizing, I walked outside, picked up the bench and brought it inside.
I set it in the living room, sat down on the sofa and stared at it. I wondered how I could utilize it. It then came to me a few moments later that I would use it as a stand for my plants. I’m planning to chalk paint it celery green. But first I moved my plants from a nearby table and placed them on the bench. Perfect, I thought.
When John came back inside I was beaming. “Look,” I said pointing to the living room. “It makes a perfect stand for my plants.”
I could see by the expression on his face that he felt understood and that was what mattered. This bench feels like the most valuable family heirloom to me, the bench that my Johnnie built with his very own hands.
I shall treasure it always.
xo,
Barbara