The La-Bor-a-Tory

    Daddy’s workshop—or “la-bor-a-tory,” as he pronounced it, with the accent on the second syllable—was better than Santa’s workshop. Yes, he said it that way on purpose, and yes, I know the world says “laboratory” the normal way, but what fun would there be in that? He would fix a glass of sweet, iced tea, tell Mama where he was headed, and retreat to his favorite place—his la-bor-a-tory.

    When Daddy was growing up, his workshop was in the basement of Grandmommy’s house. He would gather with his friend Sarge and work on radio-controlled airplanes on the weekend. After Bill and Nancy married, the question arose about where to put his workshop in their tiny apartment. Trying not to crowd the small living space, Bill offered to continue working in his mother’s basement. Nancy wanted their life together to be their life together, even if it meant a workshop squeezed into their living room.

    Daddy’s newly married workshop was not a separate building or a room in the basement, but instead a corner of the living room in their first apartment. At this stage of life, he was into building radio-controlled airplanes. His tiny workshop was a card table layered with old newspapers, and covered with parts to be assembled, strips of balsa wood, hobby knife, airplane glue, clamps, copies of Model Airplane News magazines, and other assorted tools. In his mind, he knew where everything was, he could picture the assembled plane, and the construction site was only temporary.

    However, to Nancy—or Nancy Lee as he had started calling her—the construction site was an eyesore afflicting the living room. In her defense, the living room was the first room guests would see upon entering their apartment.  She was concerned about her reputation if guests or, heaven forbid, her parents should stop by for a visit. She sweetly asked him to clean it up a little bit, just in case someone dropped by. He agreed, “No problem. I will take care of it in just a little while.”

    Time passed. Bill was busy with work and his latest project, and straightening up the workshop table in the living room was postponed. Nancy Lee, like a loving wife, waited patiently.

    A second reminder and sweetly worded plea came, when Nancy Lee, asked again, “Bill, there’s no hurry, but I wish you would just straighten up your workshop area in case someone comes by.”

    Bill replied with, “Don’t worry. I’ll take care of it. As a matter of fact, I was just fixin’ to do it.”

    Time passed. Bill’s attention was focused on solving the next problem, and tidying up his workshop was again postponed. Once again, Nancy Lee waited, not quite as patiently as before, but since she could not figure out a way to do it herself, there were no other options.

    The third reminder arrived in a sweet voice, but with a bit of an edge. “Bill, please straighten up your workshop area. If you don’t, I am going to move every last piece of it onto the front porch.”

    Bill laughed and assured her that progress was being made and the workshop would be tidied up right away.

    Bill knew that Nancy Lee meant what she said. He didn’t think she would actually do it.

    Time passed. Bill was coming home from work and noticed that their front porch looked like they were being evicted. As he came closer, he recognized a card table, a desk chair, stacks of magazines, assorted tools, layers of newspapers, and a partially assembled radio-controlled airplane. His entire workshop had migrated from a corner of the living room to the front porch.

    As he took in the scene, he remembered Nancy Lee’s promise, and realized she had been very busy that afternoon. He looked to find her watching him from the window, laughed, and winked. Then, he methodically began to reassemble his workshop—neatly—in the corner of the living room, exactly as Nancy Lee had requested in the first place. From then on, when Nancy Lee made a promise, Bill believed her.