By Richard Mabey Jr.

My father took his role, of being a dad, very serious. He was an incredibly hard-working man. He very often worked two jobs. First, as a long-distance truck driver. And secondly, as a part-time dispatcher. Generally speaking, Dad worked a good 60 hours a week, to provide for my mom, my sister and myself. Despite being totally exhausted after working all day, he still found time and energy to listen to my sister, Patti, and I talk about our days at school.

Despite how hard my dad worked, and the many hours that he worked all week, he still found time to spend with my sister and myself. I remember all so well that during the early Summer of 1964, when I was 10 years old and had just completed Mrs. Raimo’s fifth grade class, Dad and I built a desk for me in the basement of the old Mabey Homestead.

Dad had taken a week off, from one of his two weeks’ vacation time from work, to do chores around the house. I had asked Dad if he would help me to build a desk for my bedroom. It was late June of 1964.

That Monday morning, after breakfast, Dad and I climbed down the creaking cellar steps. Dad had a workbench in the southwest corner of the basement. A single 40-watt light bulb hung above Dad’s workbench. It was there in the basement, that we spent two full days, building my desk.

To the left-hand side of Dad’s workbench, leaning against the wall of cinderblocks, were boards of all different sizes. There was also a lot of two by fours, all neatly lined up against the wall, beside the plywood boards. Dad used to call it “scrap wood.” It was the result of years of saving wood from different home improvement projects.

I remember the process of building that little desk, all so well. Measuring the two by fours to all be the exact same size. They would become the legs of the desk. Sanding the edges of the plywood planking which became the desk’s surface. Nailing molding along the edges of the plywood desktop, to give the desk a touch of class. And then the satisfaction of varnishing the desk. Dad and I had, together, accomplished a great and worthwhile thing.

I loved that desk. I spent hours and hours doing homework, studying, and reading the great literature classics at that desk. I placed it near the front two windows of my bedroom that looked out to Route 202. There was such a heart-warming feeling in doing my homework at that little desk, knowing that my dad and I had built it by ourselves.

When I joined Boy Scout Troop 170, of Saint Andrew’s Episcopal Church, I would write little articles about scouting events for the old Lincoln Park Herald. Soon thereafter, I began to write articles about special events of my Sunday School class.

From time to time, I find myself dreaming about those sacred two days, when I was 10 years old and building the little desk with my father. Now at 68, I’ve grown a deeper appreciation of the time that my dad spent with me. He taught me that I could do things, like building a desk for myself. Sometimes, I have this errant wish that I could go back in time, for just one half-hour and be in the basement of the old Mabey Homestead, building that desk with my dad.

Life is short. In the grand scheme of things, it is but a blink of an eye. As a person gets older, there is an acute awareness that there is no turning back. The clock only moves forward. And, you can’t tape back the pages of the calendar. Time is never our friend. Hold dear and precious, each and every day. Love the ones dear and close to you. Forgive, forgive, and forgive. Burn all the grudges. And always remember that love is the key that opens the door to small miracles.

Richard Mabey Jr. is a freelance writer. He can be reached at richardmabeyjr@hotmail.com. Please put on the subject line: My Life Publications.