Workbenches coconuts and life 12-25-2018

My father’s workbench was down stairs in the basement of our house in Bellerose, a small community of eastern Queens. This was about one mile from the edge of New York City. As a ten year old I was fascinated with its organization of jars partly filled with assorted nails, screws, washers and other items. The jars were suspended from a shelf connected to the back of the bench. The lids had been fastened to the bottom of the shelf so that you could see the item you wanted and unscrew the hanging jar. It seems simple now but fascinating as a 10 year old. The work bench itself was great for hammering, screwing, drilling. I even connected a small .049 airplane engine to it so that I could run the engine and break it in.

Of course one of my favorite activities involved food. My mom would but a coconut in its brown shaggy hull. First I rinsed it and then downstairs on the workbench I drilled two holes through the hull. I drained out the coconut juice inside and then smashed the hull with a hammer until it cracked. Then with a screw driver I separated the hull from the coconut flesh. Eating as I worked (actually played) this was the best coconut I ever had.

The concept of work being play has intrigued me ever since. I remember my dad always telling me, “If you are going to do something do it right.” I do not remember his mentioning play. That must have come from my mother’s side. I am very thankful for the balance of these two wonderful approaches to life and grateful for both my astonishing mom and dad.