Another Christmas Story Part Two

Another Christmas Story Part Two

Pig Writes

A whole week went by and the materials sat there in the shop. Not a tool was pulled off the shelf nor a pencil sharpened.

His mind raged on in battle as to why he must face this task.

A task for a nephew he never met, for a sister-in-law he could not tolerate.

She cut him down in the past for his beliefs forged in the “old school” ways. He learned it was better to keep the peace, to mind his own business and keep to himself.

Now he is tasked to build something for the one person he despised the most.

The plan to build the toy box was simple, a few cuts of wood, a dab of glue along with a few screws and the toy box would be put together in a few hours. Yet he could not bring himself to the shop and start the project.

His heart was not in it.

His heart was not in it for all the wrong reasons.

It wasn't the nephew's fault.

But then Friday came with news of a horrible tragedy.

Twenty children and six adults would lose their lives to a madman.

The laughter silenced. The joy gone.

Those left behind will bear great pain for their loss.

Something changed inside the man's mind. There was now movement in his heart.

Early that Saturday morning the work had begun. The tools of his craft were dusted off, cleaned and oiled. Blades were sharpened. Everything was ready to go.

I watched off to the side as the man got busy with his work. What he did once before as a young man now was a bit harder for him to do. The paunch of his fat belly strained his back, his tired eyes required prescription glasses instead of safety glasses. It was most certain he was not the same young man as long ago.

I watched as he toiled to make measurements and cuts. His written plans and drawings were more like notes scratched on paper to serve as reminders to him. The plan in his head being transferred to his hands. It didn't take long before the raw materials began to take shape of a toy box. He continued working throughout the day. Only stopping for the occasional smoke break and a drink of his Dr. Pepper.

I asked him once during the day why he was going through all this work if he really didn't want to. His only reply was “I have my reason.”

Singular.

That meant only one reason why.

I pondered as to what that one reason was.

At the end of the day the mans wife came out to the shop to see the progress made.

A smile grew on her face for she was pleased in what she saw.

Before her stood a grand toy box and shelf.

The wood was bare, the edges were rough-like the man who built it.

She loved him with all of her heart.

After a pause, the wife looked at her husband and asked “Where will the stars go?”

“Stars?”, the man & I looked at each other, “What stars?”

Ride HARD or Stay Home

Pig.