my life as a builder.

I used to be a teacher.  In fact, I used to be a science teacher.  And everyday I taught, something incredible happened.  If it wasn’t the exploding volcanoes in the parking lot, or the cricket feedings to Stumbles, our one-eyed frog, then it was the heated of games of paper football or dodge ball at recess (of which I usually won).
When I left my position as a teacher to become a builder four years ago, I knew that finding this same excitement and satisfaction in my work would be a challenge.  While a newly shingled roof of a freshly tiled floor may be a source of pride to the Bob Vila’s of the world, it just wasn’t the same fulfillment that I felt the day I declared myself the undisputed tater-tot champion of my lunch table.
A few months ago, I was working on a master bedroom and bathroom addition for a young family a few miles out of town.  The husband was a minister and a doctor, while his wife was raising two little buggers at home…with a third on the way.
From a construction standpoint, it was a fairly simple and uncomplicated process.  Tear off the roof, frame the new dormer, add a bathroom here, put a closet there…pretty routine stuff.  However, halfway through the job, I realized that there was much more to this addition than sheetrock and 2x4’s. We were building a home for the new baby.
Ten days after we finished, the little girl, Gracie, was born.  She spent her first night in her house sleeping (and crying, I’m sure) in the space that we had just created.  It was the first time as a builder that I had experienced a sense of pride and accomplishment in my work again.
Our next project was a completely different story.  Unlike the previous one when our motivation was to finish before the baby was born, this project had a very different, somewhat morbid feeling.  We were building a handicap accessible bathroom on the first floor of an 1860’s farmhouse in the middle of Vermont.  The wife, Mary, was a woman in her sixties…incredibly cheerful and full of life.  In my time there, I never saw her without a smile on her face.  Her husband, Henry, on the other hand, was in the midst of a losing battle with Parkinson’s disease. While his mind was still sharp, his body was rapidly deteriorating.  Accepting this fate was devastating to Henry as his wife confided in me one afternoon, “You know, it really upsets him to see this work being done…but there is nothing else we can do.”
As a result of his condition, Henry was no longer capable of accessing the bathroom on the second floor without a great deal of assistance from his wife.  Using the bathroom, taking a shower, and even brushing his teeth had now become terrible inconveniences.  This lack of independence and the inevitability of the situation weighed heavily on Henry.   
A few days into the project, my partner turned to me and offered this bit of sobering insight, “I hope this guy is still alive by the time we finish his bathroom.”  As callous and insensitive as it was, the assessment was completely legitimate. 
The last project we worked on required us to finish before the new baby was born while this project was expedited by the sobering realization that we needed to finish before this withering old man passed away.  Any joy that I had recently experienced had succumb to the depression of working in this house for the next two months.
As the weeks went by, I had a number of conversations with Henry.  It turns out that he had been a professor of architecture at the local university for over forty years.  He was also an avid cross country skier and sailor before the Parkinson’s set in.  Ask him about his grandchildren and his face would light up like the sun.  However, as much as he loved talking about his past and his family, there was always this fear and frustration in his voice.  Henry was dying.  Everyday was a little bit worse than the day before, and there was nothing he could do about it. 
On the last day of our work, just as we were putting the finishing touches on the bathroom, Henry poked his head in to have a look around.  He walked over to the sink, and with a shaky hand, turned on both faucets.  Splashing his hands under the water, he glanced up at his reflection in the mirror and smiled.  He then turned around to investigate the new toilet.  He flipped up the seat and gave it a flush.  As the water swirled around the bowl, he smiled again.  With a little effort, he then shuffled over to the new shower.  Like the sink and the toilet before, he turned the handle and watched the water splash on the shower floor for a moment before he shut it off. 
I watched him while he finished his inspection, and in that moment his face was as alive as it had been in weeks.  And that is when it hit me.  All this time, I had this depressing and sorrowful feeling in my gut about finishing this bathroom for a dying old man.  It wasn’t until now that I realized the impact of this simple addition. 
It was the first time in a long time that Henry would be able to turn on the sink, use the toilet, or take a shower without having to ask for help.  It was a sense of dignity, responsibility, and independence that he probably had not felt in years.  With a smile and a nod, Henry left us to finish up. 
Whether it is building a home for a newborn, giving an old soul a bit of his integrity back, or shoving 14 tater-tots into my mouth while “supervising” my lunch table, I was learning to find that sense of my pride in my work again…and that has made all the difference.