Teaching what you don't know

My father was an accountant--and missionary. It turns out that preachers may be good at saving souls, but aren't so hot at saving receipts, and somebody needs to check the books now and then. He also was business manager for a boarding school, and teacher there. Not a reverend, though, this was a "lay missions" program.

What he wasn't good at was fixing things. His motto was that it paid to pay to have somebody do the job right. As a result, I didn't realize the lack until he retired and I was helping him with a few things around the house. I guess shop wasn't a thing in his school.

It was in mine in Illinois, though I only got a semester's worth--and not all of that, thanks to malaria. But Dad wasn't satisfied with that. One summer he arranged for me to go work at the boarding school's maintenance shop. He paid my salary, and I worked as an assistant, learning some more-or-less safe ways to use the tools for woodworking. Making cabinets, repairing student chairs, laying bricks--I'd get laughed at in trade apprentice schools here, but stuff got built, and still does.

I emulated him in one thing--we made sure all our kids could play an instrument. I still can't. The piano should be easy; I tried. But one finger is lower than the rest and I get the equivalent of carpal tunnel. But the kids do well, and I'm proud they can do things I can't.