driving us into nearby Sherman, where he had once come upon a certain house owned by a stranger. He loved that house. So when we were in grade school, he’d bring the whole family to sit in front of it while he sketched on a drawing pad, studying the parts of the structure that he liked. One day he’d sketch the roofline. A week later he’d come back and sketch the front steps. He wanted our house to look like that house, and he found his way by sketching the particulars.
My sister likes to say that watching my father expand our house showed her that anything is possible. “You can learn anything you want to learn,” she says, “if you sit and figure things out logically, if you study something similar, if you keep working at it. You can start with a blank piece of paper and end up with a house.”
This idea that “anything is possible” has been a bit of a mantra in my adult life, especially in my marriage. Lorrie reintroducedme to those words. And at the same time, my father’s example remains there in the back of my mind, showing me the way.
That’s not to say I always fully embraced my father’s sense of the possibilities. On Saturdays, when my sister and I would have loved to sleep in, he’d wake us up at 7 A.M . so we could get an early start on whatever the latest expansion was. We’d work until lunchtime and then he’d suggest that we take a nap so we’d have the energy to get back to work later in the afternoon.
Even if we couldn’t fall asleep, we pretended, so he wouldn’t send us back to work right away. “Just keep your eyes closed,” Mary would whisper to me. “He’ll think we’re still sleeping.”
Though we dragged our feet at times, I did feel I had a stake in all of the construction work. I wanted to do a good job so all the additions would look right. Even in grade school and junior high, I felt committed to getting the masonry right, because I’d have to look at it every day. Also, I didn’t want my friends to come over and notice that I lived in a place built by a bunch of amateurs.
The house was a source of pride, but I also felt a bit of embarrassment. Sometimes I’d brood, wishing we lived in a professionally built house like everyone else. I told myself that when I grew up, I’d live in a house where all the floors were completely level, where all the joints were square. To save money, my father also kept the heat low in the winter. I vowed to live in a house where it was never cold.
And yet, despite my mostly unvoiced complaints, I knew that working on the house was a special experience. Each time the place grew, I felt a sense of accomplishment. The house expansionwas a tangible activity, not theoretical or intellectual. We saw the progress we made. We’d put in long days, especially in the summertime, but by nightfall, we could see that things were different from when we started in the morning. I liked that.
I’ve always liked seeing results. One chore I never minded doing as a boy was mowing the grass on our half-acre lot. When I was halfway through mowing, I knew how much I had left to go. When I was finished, I could tell I’d made a difference. The lawn looked neater. Flying for an airline offers equal satisfaction: We’re halfway there. We’ve landed. We’ve completed our job.
M Y GRANDPARENTS were all born between 1885 and 1893. All four attended college, which was especially remarkable for my grandmothers, given the times they lived in. My grandparents raised both of my parents with the belief that schooling was paramount, but that a lot also could be learned outside of formal education.
My father was born in 1917 and kept a journal when he was a teen that he later allowed me to read. The Depression became vivid to me as I paged through all of his journal entries. Money was always an issue, and he had a series of overlapping jobs in high school. He’d balance his schoolwork with two paper routes and duties as a movie-theater usher.
My
My sister likes to say that watching my father expand our house showed her that anything is possible. “You can learn anything you want to learn,” she says, “if you sit and figure things out logically, if you study something similar, if you keep working at it. You can start with a blank piece of paper and end up with a house.”
This idea that “anything is possible” has been a bit of a mantra in my adult life, especially in my marriage. Lorrie reintroducedme to those words. And at the same time, my father’s example remains there in the back of my mind, showing me the way.
That’s not to say I always fully embraced my father’s sense of the possibilities. On Saturdays, when my sister and I would have loved to sleep in, he’d wake us up at 7 A.M . so we could get an early start on whatever the latest expansion was. We’d work until lunchtime and then he’d suggest that we take a nap so we’d have the energy to get back to work later in the afternoon.
Even if we couldn’t fall asleep, we pretended, so he wouldn’t send us back to work right away. “Just keep your eyes closed,” Mary would whisper to me. “He’ll think we’re still sleeping.”
Though we dragged our feet at times, I did feel I had a stake in all of the construction work. I wanted to do a good job so all the additions would look right. Even in grade school and junior high, I felt committed to getting the masonry right, because I’d have to look at it every day. Also, I didn’t want my friends to come over and notice that I lived in a place built by a bunch of amateurs.
The house was a source of pride, but I also felt a bit of embarrassment. Sometimes I’d brood, wishing we lived in a professionally built house like everyone else. I told myself that when I grew up, I’d live in a house where all the floors were completely level, where all the joints were square. To save money, my father also kept the heat low in the winter. I vowed to live in a house where it was never cold.
And yet, despite my mostly unvoiced complaints, I knew that working on the house was a special experience. Each time the place grew, I felt a sense of accomplishment. The house expansionwas a tangible activity, not theoretical or intellectual. We saw the progress we made. We’d put in long days, especially in the summertime, but by nightfall, we could see that things were different from when we started in the morning. I liked that.
I’ve always liked seeing results. One chore I never minded doing as a boy was mowing the grass on our half-acre lot. When I was halfway through mowing, I knew how much I had left to go. When I was finished, I could tell I’d made a difference. The lawn looked neater. Flying for an airline offers equal satisfaction: We’re halfway there. We’ve landed. We’ve completed our job.
M Y GRANDPARENTS were all born between 1885 and 1893. All four attended college, which was especially remarkable for my grandmothers, given the times they lived in. My grandparents raised both of my parents with the belief that schooling was paramount, but that a lot also could be learned outside of formal education.
My father was born in 1917 and kept a journal when he was a teen that he later allowed me to read. The Depression became vivid to me as I paged through all of his journal entries. Money was always an issue, and he had a series of overlapping jobs in high school. He’d balance his schoolwork with two paper routes and duties as a movie-theater usher.
My
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