You got a sec to help?

"Hey Trina!  Can you give me a hand down here?"


A question from my dad I remember invoking more terror than being busted doing something bad.

See that picture there?  That is an exact replica of how his saw and workshop looked.  Comfy and calming, right?

I'd let dad call me a time or two as I prayed he'd find my younger brother first.  No.  For some reason I couldn't run quickly or quietly enough.

I think Dad was onto me.  He was in the basement.  Probably heard my rapid footsteps as I scampered to the bathroom to pretend I was taking a dump.  Or running to the garage to grab the plastic dust pan we used to pick up dog poop.

Anything but going down to that basement.

I'd end up begrudgingly going down to his workshop where he'd proceed to explain the project he was working on.

"Trina, today I'm cutting some plywood to start install the subfloor in the bathroom down here...Do you know what a subfloor is?  No?  Ok, I can tell you're miffed you're down here.  Cut the attitude, Trina.  Just hold this." as he handed me what seemed like a 20 ft. by 20 ft. slab of plywood.

"Now I know it's a bit heavy.  Just hold it like this as I make the first cut, ok?  No, keep it upright and straight.  There we go.  Oh, and don't move."

I'd stand there.  Struggling to hold the plywood.  Terrified.  I mean, I wanted to lose bladder control scared.

He'd put on his safety goggles (none for me), and fire that wretched thing up.  That gigantic savagely toothed blade.  Whirling and whirling.  The scream as it made contact with the plywood.  Saw dust everywhere.

Dad was unfazed.  Pleased with his big boy toy.

Scared the living crap out of me.  Especially enjoyable was when I was told I needed to push the wood close to that blade.

Seriously phobic of power tools.  Well, drills are ok.  But I'd sooner watch my arm go numb from using a hand saw than use a power one.

That picture...ew....

Outta here...