Story Three: Putting Up Sheet Rock

I am afraid that I was an eternal embarrassment to my Father. He could do anything. He was a really good fisherman, he could play poker as well as anyone I've ever known, and he was good with his hands. By that I mean that he could build and fix things. He and my Mother finished their house in Shell Knob, Missouri all by themselves. I'm talking about electrical and plumbing. Dad just knew how to do stuff.

Once, I was visiting on a weekend when Dad asked if I could help him hang some sheet rock. I had never done this before, so I said sure. I should tell you that I knew nothing about hanging sheet rock. If I had, I would have found a reason to head home immediately. My job was to take a T shaped board and hold up the sheet rock while my Father stood on a ladder with a drill and put in the screws. I can't describe how badly my arms and shoulders hurt after the first hour or so. As the pain got worse, I began to let the pieces sag a bit. This would not do. My father and I began to have words as to whose job was not being done properly. Finally, I threw the hated stick down and said: " OK, If I'm not doing this to suit you, you can get someone else to do it !!" Then I stomped out of the room.

An hour or so passed as I pouted and fumed. Dad had gone to bed. I went downstairs and asked Mom if she thought Dad would mind me coming up to see him. I said I figured he was probably still mad at me. Mom smiled and reminded me that Dad was not the one who got mad. She said that of course I could go see him. I walked into his room and woke him (not easy to do since he couldn't hear very well). I said, "Dad, I'm sorry I got mad tonight. I''m just not very good at building." He didn't say anything and I started to walk away. Then he rolled over and said, "We'll get a good early start tomorrow. You'll do better." He then turned over and went back to sleep.

That was my Dad. Sleep well.