Nails

When I was fifteen I went through a time of rebellion and confusion.  I was at a place where the road I was on was leading me towards nowhere, except maybe more trouble. In times like this you usually learn the hard way and are worse off.  But sometimes somebody will step up and help steer you away from your destructive path.  For me, that person was my Grandfather, or as we called him "Gramps".

     It was the summer of 1987 and because of my actions, not only was a I heading towards my Junior year of High School, but  I would be living under a new roof , attending a new school, in a new city and unbeknownst to me -- heading towards a whole new direction.  Why? Because I was moving into my grandparents house and "Gramps" quickly laid down the rules and expectations.  I learned and changed a lot during the two years I lived there.  But it all started that summer.

     Not too long after I moved in Gramps came home with a van full of scrap wood.  They were all different lengths and sizes.  He was planning on building a woodshed in the backyard and knew a guy who let him take their scrap wood.  Yeah Gramps always knew somebody or had a connection.  He had me help him unload all the wood and we laid it on the ground in the driveway in front of the garage. It was a lot of wood and because it was scrap wood it had nails sticking in and out of it --some more than others, some straight and others bent, some rusted.  He looked at me and said "tomorrow your going to pull all the nails out of the wood while I'm at work and you need to have it done before I get home".  I told him okay, but in my head I was thinking "What the heck? I can't do this".  And to make matters worse I wasn't exactly the handy man type.  I mean to be honest, I didn't know my way around hammers, nails, or tools in general.

     The next morning he reminded me of my chore for the day.  He had made a makeshift table for me with a piece of plywood and  two wood saw horse stands.  After he left for work, I put on my bandanna and went outside.  It was hot -the air thick.  I reached down to pick up the first piece of wood.  It had a nail jammed in it that was completely bent.  I struggled to straighten out the nail and tried to ply it out --but could not.  I threw it down and picked up a different piece with a not so bent nail--I struggled with that one too.  "Dang", I thought to myself, "I am never gonna get this done".

     Some pieces had multiple nails too, so I started looking for some that looked easier --after a while of struggling and sweating I started to get better at it and eventually pried a few out. So I went back and picked up the first one with the completely bent up nail and began to hammer to straighten the bent side out and began working on it.  I sweated, jammed my fingers, got scratched up by the nail a few times , got frustrated and cursed -but I couldn't quit.  Gramps was expecting this to be finished.  At the same time I recall thinking "this is crap--why do I have to do this?--it's not my shed! and how come he didn't just go buy some brand new wood with no nails?".  So Somehow I managed to get the job done.  This was just the first of many jobs or "projects" as Gramps would call them, that I would work on while living there.                                    

Now as I look back I find symbolism in all I did that day.

     We will all struggle with issues in our youth, adulthood and all thru life.  These struggles vary from person to person --it can be health issues. marriage, raising a family, or a career.  These struggles or problems are much like those nails I was jarring from the wood that day. Some nails were easy to pull out but the majority were quite difficult--bent up --some rusty-- some nails larger than others--in life you find the same thing.

     That day when I began prying at those nails I thought for sure I could not do it.  But I  was able to overcome the difficult task. And now later in life I have overcome a few of the nails that have come my way--some nails are still stuck and little by little I am prying them loose.  It's hard. But it can be done. And I have come to realize that there is always more to be done because nails will spring up when you least expect them to..

I like to think that I myself was a bent up nail when I moved into my Grandpas house that summer.  But during that two year span that I stayed there he jarred me loose.  He jarred me loose from the path I was on so I could go forward.  So that  I could be strong enough to face the nails that would eventually come my way.