Ha…but we did have a talk about safety and we did get some saftey goggles on him.
Anyway…I let Ike read the original blog entry. And he had some objections to one part of it. It was a good discussion…seemed like a discussion…but in the end I’ve been edited, sensored as it were, but I rolled with that, cause it seemed important to him.
He liked the little oddly shaped, wrapped cup thing I made him as shown last blog entry…he said all the right things…it’s now in his bedroom…archeologists may comment on it while digging him out one day. Something has all ready shifted between us…hard to articulate. Although there was the blip about some my words about ‘kids his age’ and all that…it’s obvious, I’ve pointed out, that I’m trying something here. And he’s willing to play alone…God bless him.
So if you recall I had laminated two 1 1/2” pieces of fir together. I thought I did a better job of centering the thing onto the lathe…but no. In fact I dropped the ball in a very big way. And so the feakin’ chunk of wood lobbed, gyrated, and rattled about and the only sound louder than the freak show infront of me were my curses. I really wanted it to be a good start for the boy. It wasn’t.
I need to research…I mean WE need to do a bunch of research on how to center the piece of wood on the lathe. Actually any good advise from readers would be very much appreciated. But not all was lost. When he came out to the shop and sat down I explained what had happened (I’d been up a bit, well a lot, earlier than him and couldn’t wait). I suggested he never mind about the outside of the piece and to set the guard (if that’s what it’s called) up to work on the face of the project…the bowl part. He liked that and jumped right in.
He was at it for four hours. I was working on the other side of the shop putting together my new Freud Router Table and looking over my shoulder and, at times, offering whatever weak advise I could conjure up. 34 years of cyber build up ( or decay) have clouded the my memory of those Grade 8 woodworking instrutions…Mr. Lord…I do remember that. He was the teacher. But I remember little else unfortunately. I should read a book.
But Ike seemed into it. I would leave the shop from time to time and get a coffee from the house. On my return I could tell he’d done nothing but lean into that chunk of wood. At one point, when I sensed he was tiring of things, I suggested applying a little sandpaper to see what would happen. “Wow”, he said after a bit, and that was music to my ears…although I tried not smile as I struggled with my own project. It was cool. He was present…in the shop…with me…and what more could a guy want.
I thought about all the lessons I couldn’t teach my son directly (don’t know where that independent streak in him comes from)...but that lathe was having a fine crack at it. Patience. And it resinated for me in that ‘the basics’ we never learn fully…or keep learning deeper and deeper. “Slow down son”, I’d say under my breathe when I’d hear the thing rattle loudly and chink…but the wood did all the talking. And I’d smile at the beauty of that.
Good days work, I figure, and more to do next weekend.