Maverick Sprouts

I was doing some yard work at a property we manage (what better time than February to do landscaping), and decided to trim up some bushes which sit in the front and back of tenant signs.  The bushes are Dwarf English Boxwoods - great for this application because they grow so slowly.  We keep them trimmed in a round shape.

The bushes when we planted them.

 About the time I began to trim, the thought occurred to me that the branches that get cut off are the ones that stick out, which is obvious, as the whole point of trimming is to make the bush uniform.  These branches are the ones that, for some reason, broke away from the crowd.  The bushes required very little trimming, except for these maverick branches.  In order to produce the desired effect, these maverick branches had to go.

Now perhaps you are trying to get one step ahead of me and are beginning to think of pruning as mentioned in the Bible.  Don't.  This is not where I'm going.  The pruning mentioned in the Bible is a different idea, at least I think and hope so.

What I did think about was people who break away from the crowd.  These are people who grow off in a different direction.  They poke out in odd ways.  They do not conform to the general shape which the rest of the people have formed.

The temptation is to want to trim off those branches - those people - in order to give the group a uniform shape, for the good of the whole, I suppose, or for some common goal.

This can be a mistake.  Trimming bushes is o.k.  Trimming people isn't.  Yes, sometimes people need some guidance if they are too far outside the box, but care must be taken.

Since I was the one holding the shears (actually, it was a pair of tin snips, which was what I had available in my truck) you would think I would be looking at the little bushes from the perspective of the gardener.  But I actually got caught up in the perspective of the branch - the one that pops out from the crowd.  It may relish in the moment, in which case it will be fine.  Or it may wonder why it doesn't look like the rest of the bush, and debate in its little branch brain whether it should be more "ordinary".  This branch may need someone to say "It's o.k. to be out there... you are there for a good reason."

Immediately, some people came to mind.  I called one of them on the phone, and assured him that while he may feel like he is stuck out there, he is actually one of the healthiest branches on the whole bush. (In all honesty, I called him, but didn't communicate this as clearly as I would have liked.)

The random sprouts from this bush got trimmed regardless.  No one would understand if I left them to prove a point.

Being Fully Present

In an article by Gillian Marchenko in the magazine Thriving Family, Gillian talks about caring for her two daughters who have Down Syndrome.  While teaching one of them to cut circles out of Play-Doh, she considers the importance of this simple activity while at the same time pondering on the immensity of her task as a parent and the frustrations it presents.

Then she says that God reminded her to "Just concentrate on what you're doing right now."  She continues with the work with her daughter, and concludes "This is my task at hand, to spend time with Polly...To create enough space in my thoughts to be fully present and make contact with her heart."

Yea, that's exactly what I want to do with those around me.  Gillian had put words to a beautiful truth, one which can be applied almost daily.  But in addition to touching my heart, I thought to myself "Now that's how I want to write.  If I could pen a line like that occasionally, I'd be content."  Gillian had captured an idea that is an aspiration for most of us - to touch the hearts of those we encounter in our day to day existence.

And then the thought occurred to me that Gillian didn't create this line out of nothing.  It came out of her experience with her child.  She was just plugging along in a difficult situation in her life.  If not for that situation, her page would have remained blank.

I'm one who would like to avoid difficult and trying situations, as most of us do.  But apparently, in order to have good material from which to write, I must continue to get up every day, go to work, and walk through all kinds of situations.  I'll take it, but I'll have to be reminded over and over that it's all good.

"Old Ladies"

I have been doing work for my first grade teacher since December of 1998.  We have done major projects on her home, including a new roof, new siding, new windows, a remodeled bathroom, a remodeled kitchen, painting, various maintenance issues on her property, and most recently, a new out-building.

Years ago, after writing her a thank-you note for a tip she once gave me, she encouraged me to write more.  I took that encouragement to heart.  I give her much credit for why I pressed on into writing.

She is one of those people who are faithful to express to me her thanks when I work on her home.  This note came in the mail with her payment for work we just did to make some of her routine tasks easier.  Her handwriting is deceiving.  She is much more spry than it would indicate.

Translation:

Thank you so much

for the many things you

do to make "old ladies' "

lives more comfortable.

Until next time...

She is the one who deserves my thanks.  She is on the long list of people who make my life the joy it is.  And I look forward to caring for her for years to come.

Harry H. Dukes, Jr.

I was recently doing some work in his old office in his garage, and couldn't help but notice a framed newspaper article on the wall.  It was printed around 1987, not long before Mr. Dukes died.  The article spoke about his individuality and his life long effort to be part of and to contribute to his community.  Indeed, he had a colorful life.

The Dukes family has a long history in Millville, DE.  In the article, he told the story of working for his father in his general store, where he claimed that from the locals, "I learned to swear for 5 minutes straight without repeating the same cuss word."  It was a comment I could picture him saying.  He always had a funny quip.  (See other historical information about Millville.)

But the overwhelming thing I came away with from reading the article was the regret of not having gotten to know Mr. Dukes better.  I see now he had a great wealth of knowledge and experience from which I could have benefited.  But during the time I knew him, I was too busy being a youth to take advantage of it.

I suspect that as a general rule, I greatly undervalued relationships with my elders while I was growing up.  I probably tried to learn from them what I needed to know at the moment, but rarely just let them shower their experience on me as a matter of routine.  Generally, most elders don't just do that unless invited, and I wasn't one to extend the invitation.

This is one of those lessons I would like to teach my children.  But it is likely they may follow in my footsteps, and take years to learn it.  Well, there's always hope.

Tinka

I have an aunt who lives in the great city of Louisville, KY with my uncle Bud, who I suspect is a curmudgeon.  I must confess that I wasn't even sure what a curmudgeon was until I was working the other day. 

My customer and I were discussing the change in personality that occurs as we age (well, you have to do something to make repairing a crack in a ceiling interesting.)  I commented that I could already feel it coming - I was going to be a grumpy old man.  It runs in the family, on my mother's side.

After a few moments of thought, my customer says "You will never be a curmudgeon."  After I asked her to define the word, her definition of which eludes me at the moment, I explained to her that she only sees my best side, and is mistaken about the fate of my old age personality.

Jump back to this post (this is a stream of consciousness sort of post, just for the record).  As I began this post about Tinka, my uncle appears in the sentence, and the word curmudgeon bursts forth onto the page, completely out of my control.  Out of respect, I look up the exact definition of the word so as not to slander his good name.

This is what I found.  I copied it directly off of this web page.  It is a quote from Jon Winokur:

"A curmudgeon's reputation for malevolence is undeserved. They're neither warped nor evil at heart. They don't hate mankind, just mankind's absurdities. They're just as sensitive and soft-hearted as the next guy, but they hide their vulnerability beneath a crust of misanthropy. They ease the pain by turning hurt into humor.  . . . . .   They attack maudlinism because it devalues genuine sentiment.   . . . . .   Nature, having failed to equip them with a serviceable denial mechanism, has endowed them with astute perception and sly wit.
      
Curmudgeons are mockers and debunkers whose bitterness is a symptom rather than a disease. They can't compromise their standards and can't manage the suspension of disbelief necessary for feigned cheerfulness. Their awareness is a curse.
      
Perhaps curmudgeons have gotten a bad rap in the same way that the messenger is blamed for the message: They have the temerity to comment on the human condition without apology. They not only refuse to applaud mediocrity, they howl it down with morose glee. Their versions of the truth unsettle us, and we hold it against them, even though they soften it with humor."

Having read this, I realized that by this definition, the word fits my uncle perfectly. 

I also realized that I am probably a blossoming curmudgeon as well.  This is actually a great relief, as I have been thinking I was chronically depressed.  Now I realize that instead, I'm just one of these.



So, here is the actual meat of this post.  Tinka had a store in Louisville a while back.  This story ran in the newspaper. 

Tinka is the perfect balance for a curmudgeon.  She is the exact opposite in personality, which, fortunately for Bud, is what keeps him from completely losing his mind.

The Situations You Stumble Into

Today I went to a customer's home to repair a dripping faucet which I had supposedly repaired 6 months ago.  This is why I don't like plumbing.

In the six months since I was there last, the wife found out she has ovarian cancer.  Her husband shared a few of the details with me as I worked.  She was very sick, but he didn't tell me the prognosis.

Our area has had an influx of retired couples, as it is economically advantageous to retire here.  So while this couple has family, they don't live nearby.  All I could think about was what life would be like for this older man if his wife passes.

It made me wish we lived closer to the beach so I could keep an eye on the couple.  As sad as the situation is, and could become, I count it a privilege to be a small part of their world, and wonder if there may be something I can do down the road.

It made me appreciate the situations I stumble into as a result of just going to work.

Its Not Just a Job

I work with a lot of different people on a lot of different jobs.  Like any work, there is a tendency to set your sights on just getting the job completed.  I constantly try to remind myself to enjoy the moment... there's more to the work than just getting it done.  And then occasionally, something unusual, even extraordinary, will occur, making the job less about work, and more about life.

Out of the blue, an old friend contacted me.  Her vacation home had suffered water damage over the winter.  The roof had already been repaired, and the damage inside remained.  She knew I did this sort of work, and wondered if I may be able to work on the home or at least point her in the right direction.

My first inclination was to offer her advice only, for a variety of reasons, one of which was the fact she had been more than a friend in our college years.  We parted ways amiably, but hadn’t really spoken in depth since then.  I was hesitant to even open that door.

I made a fact finding trip to the house on a day she wasn't there.  Being in the home had the effect I anticipated.  While surveying the property, a flood of memories smacked me in the face.  I wasn't sure at all how to proceed.

Accompanied by my youngest daughter, we met my friend at the house one Saturday.  We talked about the repairs, and as the details of the job unfolded, it became apparent that while I was hesitant to step into this situation, it seemed I was the right person to do the work.

The visits to the house and the subsequent conversations prompted some contemplation regarding our past.  It was a process I foresaw having to walk through, and elected to press on despite some discomfort. The thought that this was being orchestrated for us by God Himself was hard to shake.

The following Sunday morning our worship leader opened with the song “It is Well with My Soul”.  As I sang the song, the present situation immediately came to mind.  I knew I was midstream of a healing taking place, and thought “This is well with my soul.  This is all good.” 

But then those churchy goose bumps were interrupted.  Was I singing this sincerely?  The answer came quickly - NO.  So I turned the song into a prayer, and asked "Lord, make this situation more well with my soul.”

I sensed a desire to talk to someone.  Two of my best friends were out of town together, ministering at a summer church camp.  Some help THEY were in my hour of need.  So I sent off a text to another friend, Joe.  He was busy, but would call later.

About this time, I received an e-mail from my friend Bill.  He forwarded a story about dealing with the past.  The timing was uncanny and I shot a response back to him mentioning this.  We discovered a common bond, and thought it prudent to schedule a time to meet for coffee.

The day I started the job, I could tell that something was different already.  The only thing that smacked me in the face was the desire to get it done in time for my friend’s vacation.  Around day four the reality of the magnitude had set in, so I asked my dad to help me.  We spent some quality time together.  I even snapped at him a few times and had to apologize.  It was beautiful.

Bill and I met for our scheduled coffee.  We had one of those heart to heart talks that they say men are supposed to have, but rarely do.  But this came about very naturally, out of a mutual desire to share what light we had which may have applied to our situations.  He told me he would be praying for me, and I believed him.

A few days later, Joe called me, and I sat out on the step while we talked and my dad continued slaving away in the house.  We exchanged stories of similar events in our lives, another one of those heart-to-hearts that men are told to have.  But no one had to tell us.  We connected in a way we never had before. 

There were some peculiar occurrences on the job that didn’t involve people at all.  The summer so far had been unusually dry.  The night before we tore out the old damaged ceiling in the bedroom, we had a horrific rain storm.  As we removed the ceiling, we found some soaked insulation.  It didn’t take long to trace the leak to a window above the roof, which was easily fixed.  The timing of the rain was perfect.  A day or two later, and new drywall would have gotten damaged by water.

A day or two later another horrific storm hit the area.  I was half way home and for some crazy reason thought of the cook top in the kitchen.  We had covered the top with plastic and a rug to protect it while tearing out the ceiling.  It had push button controls, but I couldn’t recall where they were.  I wondered if there was a chance we could have inadvertently turned on one of the burners.

Of course, I returned to the job.  When I arrived, the storm was directly over the house.  I found the cook top to be off, but as I was removing the plastic and rug, I heard a dripping sound.  Coincidentally, water was coming in a window above the kitchen in the same manner as the first leak we had discovered.  Again, the timing was outrageously perfect, as we were about to install new drywall.

My friend arrived with her family the night before my last day of work.  That Saturday we talked as I finished up with some painting and miscellaneous jobs.  I met her husband for the first time face to face. It was a perfect ending to one story, the perfect beginning to another.

As is the case with many so called routines in life, this wasn’t just a job.  God’s fingerprints were all over it.  I would suggest that it was nothing less than a walking out of Acts 2:42.  “And they were continually devoting themselves to the apostles' teaching and to fellowship, to the breaking of bread and to prayer.”  The “they” in this case was a whole cast of people I encountered along the way.

In that light, throughout that five week period, I believe it is probable that The Lord brought to mind teaching we had all been exposed to throughout our lives to guide us through.  We effortlessly devoted ourselves to intimate fellowship with each other.  Without the “breaking of bread” - the actual work of Christ Himself represented by that - the work and interactions would have been nothing more than a chore, perhaps an inconvenient one fraught with pitfalls.  And naturally,  we held this whole situation before The Lord in prayer as it unfolded.

And the fruit of this so-called “continual devotion” reminiscent of the Book of Acts?  As in any gathering of believers, it brought new life.  The relationship between my old friend and I was re-defined.  New relationships were birthed.  New life was breathed into other relationships in a way that only a sharing of The Life of Christ can.  We were reminded again of His hand in our lives.  And as an added bonus, an old house got restored.

This story first appeared in the October, 2010 edition of the Manna. http://readthemanna.org

Sea Finds

I first met Al and Linda Abrams when they asked me to build a deck for them in May of 2002.  One day while working alone at their house, I noticed a container of Skittles sitting out.  I ate a majority of them, and left a note informing them of my dirty deed.  Since then, every time I have done any work for the Abram's, I always find a supply of Skittles waiting for me on the job. 


The Abrams opened up a little gift shop in Rehoboth Beach, DE a few years ago called Sea Finds.  I wasn't aware of it until they decided to move to a better location and needed a counter/room divider built.  I fell in love with their shop.  I especially appreciated the fact that Al makes many of the items, and others are made by local artists.  I took my wife and children in, and they all fell in love with the shop as well.



When our anniversary rolled around last summer ('11), I knew the perfect gift for my wife.  The Abrams carried sea glass pendant necklaces.  I devised a plan to stop in the shop with my wife, where she would pick out a necklace, and then we would continue on to dinner.  I texted Linda of my intentions, and asked for suggestions for dinner.  She suggested a Mexican restaurant directly across the street from their shop, the Mariachi Restaurant.  Perfect.  Linda told me to let her know when we were on our way so that she would be sure to be there.

Tina was pleased with my plan as it unfolded.  We found a necklace she liked.  As we left the shop, Al gave me a business card and told me to give it to the man at the door of Mariachi's.  "Ahh," he said, and took us upstairs to an outside deck table.  We had a wonderful dinner, and when it came time to pay our bill, the waiter informed us that it "was all taken care of".  Of course, we knew immediately what had happened, and hightailed it back to the Abrams to thank them.

It was a beautiful gesture, and a defining moment in our relationship.  This couple genuinely cares about us.  They have become much more than customers over the past 9 years.  They have become our friends.  This type of developing relationship is one of the things that gives me the greatest satisfaction in my line of work.  It's what turns work into pleasure.  And without it, work would just be, well work.

Windows

Five years ago, my grandmother and I began discussing the replacing of the windows in her house.  Then she had an automobile accident, and the project went on hold.

This past spring, she approached me again, and we began planning a course of action for the job.  The question that must be determined in a window job is whether to use replacement windows or to replace the complete unit with new construction windows.  Replacement windows are cheaper and easier to install.  Replacing the entire window unit is laborious, more costly, but usually results in a better looking job.

I knew my grandmother would lean on me to make the decision for her.  While cost was not a great concern, nevertheless I did estimates based on both options, pricing 4 different brands of windows.  There were many factors to consider.  If we used replacement windows, the outsides of the old frames would need to be wrapped in aluminum.  Some of the wood would even need to be replaced before that could take place.  The nice thing about replacement windows is that you get them made to the exact dimensions of your opening.  With new construction windows, you must choose the closest sized window which will fit your existing opening.  Then there was the issue of one big window which was currently stained wood on the inside.  We preferred to have a wood colored window in its place, which is problematic with vinyl replacement windows.  A wood-look vinyl is available, but not the most gorgeous thing.  Oh, and then there was the issue that chaos and disruption to her home may drive my grandmother to a nervous breakdown.  Replacement windows would be infinitely easier on her nerves.

After considering these issues for a few weeks, or months, I recommended that we use new construction windows.  She elected to take my advice, and mid summer, I placed the order.

By about the second day of working, I was wondering about the wisdom of my decision.  I had guessed that the job would take about nine days.  By the twelfth day, I was still not completely convinced I had done the right thing.

Then one morning I read Our Daily Bread.  Julie Ackerman Link wrote "Whenever we set out to do something good, even when we're certain that God wants us to do it, we shouldn't be surprised when the situation gets worse before it gets better.  This doesn't prove that we're doing the wrong thing:  it just reminds us that we need God to accomplish everything." 

Now I'm not claiming that God told me to use new construction windows. But this encouragement was what I needed to hear.  I was judging the wisdom of my decision based on the ease of the job.  I knew better that this, but apparently needed to be reminded.  From that point on, all the way to the completion of the job on the 14th day, I rested in the decision I had made.  There was so much more God wanted to do than put new windows in my grandmother's house.

My grandmother was happy.  And I learned something, again.

Not Just a Summer Job - A Tribute to Cashar and Mabel Evans

I worked at a restaurant – The Fenwick Crab House - in Fenwick Island, Delaware, during my high school and college years (1977-1982).  The restaurant was owned by Cashar and Mabel Evans of Selbyville, Delaware, from 1962 to 1983.  In February of 2006, I sent this letter to Mrs. Evans.  It appears here in a slightly edited version.  It is long, but there's an awesome life lesson summed up at the end (if I must say so myself).

Dear Mrs. Evans,

This correspondence is long overdue.  There were a few things I have been meaning to tell you.

This is no exaggeration… I have a dream about the Crab House two or three times a year.  It is always a similar dream.  I come in to work, years after having been there, and I am expected to cook.  But it has been so long that I can’t remember what to do.  It isn’t traumatic or anything… I just realize that time has passed, and I need to re-learn the job.  Those years in the kitchen must have made quite an impression for me to still be dreaming about it.

The Crab House

I became aware of job openings at the Crab House through Michael.  It was the spring after we got our driver’s licenses… 1977 (see my first car).  We were both looking for jobs, and Mike came into school one day and said he had gotten a job at the Crab House.  I asked what he would be doing.  Washing dishes and peeling potatoes are the only two chores I recall him mentioning.  According to Mike, they needed more people to wash dishes and peel potatoes.  I could do that, I thought.  And working with my best friend Mike would be ideal. 

A nervous phone call to Mr. Evans ended with an invitation to come to Selbyville to “interview” for a job.  He told me where you lived…a white house in view of a Rick’s Laundromat - the only house with a white picket fence.  I drove to Selbyville to a house with a picket fence in view of Rick’s.  No one came to the door.  A neighbor alerted me that I was at the wrong house.  You lived in the other only house with the picket fence.  I “passed” the interview, and had landed my first job.  I think it was my relation to my mother and Grandfather Elias that made you feel obligated to give me a chance.

Despite my inability to find your house, I did find the Crab House on the first day of work.  I drove down with Mike, thinking the company would help with first day jitters.  I had known a few people who had worked there, my older brother Buddy included.  He lasted about a week.  I recall riding with mom one rainy day taking him down.  It must have been before he got his license.  Perhaps the dreariness of the rain impacted his desire to work there.  I also knew of Donald, who had talked about eating strawberries when he was supposed to be making the famous strawberry pies while standing in the walk-in cooler.  I don’t know if he quit, or was fired for eating strawberries.

Potato Peeler

The Salad Slicer        

That first summer, I washed dishes and did occasionally peel potatoes, although you had that nifty potato peeler.  I learned that if you left the potatoes in too long, you ended up with potatoes the size of golf balls and cherry tomatoes.  And I also learned, or actually re-learned, to make salad.  We made salad on the table in the back porch next to the cole slaw mixer.  I was standing there one day doing the cucumbers.  It took no great skill… cut both ends off, and force them through the slicer.  But I managed to fumble on step one.  I was cutting the ends back to where the seeds started.  Mr. Evans came strolling in to see what we were up to.  “Why are you cutting so much off the end of the cucumber?” he questioned.  “Well, that’s the way my mother does it”, I responded.  It was then I first learned about the quick wit and intolerance for impertinence of Mr. Evans.  “HOW LONG HAS YOUR MOTHER BEEN IN THE RESTAURANT BUSINESS?” he bellowed.  I don’t think I intentionally determined to cut the cucumbers in a way that was different from how I was told to, but I did learn that day the importance of paying close attention to instructions.  We have gotten many a laugh recalling that story.  My mother especially enjoyed it.

The Cole Slaw Mixer.

It may have been about my 2^nd year when my impertinence reared its ugly head again.  I was a slow learner.  Mr. Townsend, a very, very old man, would come in to eat several times a week.  I did not really grasp the significance of what Mr. Evans was doing for him at the time, because I was young and self-centered.  Mr. Evans would hand-prepare Mr. Townsend’s dinner.  It was usually - no, make that always - broiled chicken breasts- no skin, sautéed asparagus, and boiled potatoes.  Mr. Evans considered the task of cooking for his old friend a privilege.  I viewed it as just a chore.  Sometimes Mr. Evans would cut up the chicken himself.  But often he would come to me and ask that I go get a chicken and do the honors, as I was one of the resident chicken prep guys.  By this time in my Crab House career, I had advanced to Clam Man, a job I took over from Rex.  I thought that I was very busy one night when Mr. Evans requested that I cut up two chicken breasts for him.  A little exasperated and wondering why he couldn’t do it himself, I said “Mr. Evans I’m really busy right now.”  Wrong answer.  “You’re not too busy to work for ME!!!” he shouted.  I missed the whole point of Mr. Townsend’s dinners.  I was too young to have an old friend that I loved to serve.

I met my first love working at the Crab House.  She was a wonderful girl, and Mr. Evans loved her.  But he felt it was important to constantly tell me the hazards of first loves.  He warned me over and over about these hazards.  I ignored him, and finally figured out on my own that first loves should not occur during your senior year of high school.  A better time for a first love would be around the age of 23, after you have finished with college and have maybe worked a year or two.

I met my second love after ending the relationship with my first, also a waitress at the Crab House.  She was a wonderful girl as well, and Mr. Evans loved her as well too.  He did not warn me about second loves.  His mistake was that he should have warned the girls about me, not the other way around.  I was just too darned serious at the wrong time.  Like I said… 23 would have been a better age.  Or perhaps 31 would have been even better.

My first day on the job, I had come under the instruction of Will.  Will was only a couple of years older than I, but seemed much more mature and wise.  He became one of my mentors at the Crab House.  He seemed flawless in his job and in the way he related to the rest of the gang at the Crab House.  He was universally accepted as our peer leader. 

While Will was our peer leader, we also had our teacher leader, Dave (Dave was a school teacher, and spent his summers at the Crab House as manager).  How did you find these guys?  Dave had been there 13 years, and Will about 5, by the time I came.  They were whole-heartedly devoted to the restaurant, but most of all devoted to the Crab House family.  I had great respect for both of them.  You know as well as I that the Crab House would have been a very different place without them.  I learned from them what defined the proper relationship between us employees and you and Mr. Evans, the owners.  I never saw them be impertinent towards either of you the way I could be.  And they both became my guide in that regard.

I mentioned that I had taken over the job of Clam Man from Rex.  Rex had a way of joking and kidding that I really enjoyed.  One day, while training me on the clam steamer, he mentioned that if you aren’t sure if a clam is good or not, you can tap two together.  If they make a solid clicking sound, then both are good.  If one is dead, it won’t hold its shell tightly together, and it will make a dull thud.  It was legitimate instruction, I think.  You never knew about Rex.  He may have over-emphasized the necessity of this task, because I took him to mean that you should do this on every clam you put in a bucket for steaming.  So if you were to observe me doing clams, you would have heard an incessant tapping of clams.  I can be a little compulsive, and it became a compulsion to tap clams together.  I didn’t want a dead clam in the steamer.  Mr. Evans caught me doing this early on.  He asked why I was knocking the clams together, and I told him (not impertinently, mind you) that I was checking to see if they were good.  “Rex told me to do it” I added.  I had learned from the cucumber episode to follow directions to the “T”.  Mr. Evans roared in laughter.  From that day on, he referred to me as “Knock-knock”.  It makes me laugh just thinking about it.  The following spring, working some before the season started, he had forgotten what nick-name he had given me.  I reminded him, and “Knock-knock” stuck for the rest of my time at the Crab House.  Reminding him of the name was proof that I enjoyed his term of endearment for me.

It wasn’t until recently that I realized I wasn’t really cut out to be a line cook.  My favorite thing to do at the Crab House was to cook out of Siberia II.  That’s because I would have just a couple of waitresses, and would be able to work on one or two orders at a time.  What I realized just a few years ago is that I am not a great multi-task person.  I don’t do well trying to do a bunch of stuff all at once - thus my attraction to Sib II.  The next favorite job was Siberia I.  It was not as busy as the main kitchen, and much less chaotic.  So even when it did get busy down there, there were fewer things to distract me from cooking.  Plus, it normally meant you would be the first to get off work.  I don’t know if everyone else knew all this about my abilities or not.  If they did, they were sensitive enough not to make an issue if it.  But my guess is that you all understood our strengths and weaknesses, and put us where we would work the best.  It was wise on your part, and as I look back, much appreciated on mine.

One of the things I really enjoyed was the pre-season work.  I enjoyed going with Will and Mr. Evans down to the Crab House before we opened.  The place had a peculiar smell.  Once in a while, I will be someplace that will have that same smell.  What I liked was being in that select few who could be on the “inside”.  Perhaps I was really seeking to be a right hand.  I wanted to be a go-to guy for Mr. Evans. 

On a Saturday morning after the restaurant season had ended, Mr. Evans called me at home.  He invited me to go to a University of Delaware football game with you.  It was the same day that my grandfather chose to dig out his potatoes, a yearly task for one Saturday in the fall.  He would plant rows and rows, enough to feed everyone in the family who wanted them for the entire winter.  We would all go and dig them out after he turned over the dirt with the tractor.  It was an all-day affair of digging, loading them into baskets, and transporting them to the pump house for storage.  I enjoyed it to a degree.  But I also viewed it as sort of an obligation, partly so we could share in the free potatoes all winter, and partly because Poppop couldn’t do it alone.  The day Mr. Evans called, I can’t really say I was totally thrilled about going to the game.  I had never even been to a college game.  And there were the potatoes.  Looking back, I am sure my family would have given me the go-ahead to go to the game.  But I dug potatoes instead.  I should have gone to the game with you and Mr. Evans.  I should have accepted your generosity.  It was a great privilege to have been invited to spend the day with you, and in my foolishness, I missed it.

There is a brick wall in front of Prince George's Chapel in Dagsboro.  Sections of it have been replaced over the years due to cars driving through it.  Some of those new bricks were due to Kendra driving her car through it late one night after work.  She fell asleep on the way home to Laurel.  I don’t know exactly what you did, but I recall hearing that you either loaned her the money to buy a new car, or gave her some money towards a new car.  Either way, it was a very generous and caring thing to do, and I took note of it.  It was completely in character for both of you. (More on Prince George's)

One summer, Dorothy had a hernia repaired.  You made a place for her out front, seating customers.  Perhaps it was a wise move on your part, as she was so cheerful, chatty, and cute.  But I was very aware that you were taking care of her until she was well enough to go back to waiting tables.

While I was dating Sherry, you invited us to a New Year’s Eve party in Rehoboth, the Old Landing Country Club, I think, or perhaps it was Rehoboth Beach Yacht and Country Club.  It was a very classy affair, as one would expect.  The old folks did the Jitterbug and what not.  We felt privileged to spend the evening with you.  I knew that we were much more than a couple of kids who just worked for you. 

And that is my whole point.  You and Mr. Evans made all of us a part of your lives.  We were not just employees.  You loved us, and we loved you back, because you earned it by investing yourselves in our lives.  I learned in those 5 years that life isn’t just about work.  It is more about people.  And when you experience it in the ideal way, you end up dreaming about it for the next 24 years.

I have often wondered if I could have better spent my summers someplace other than the Crab House.  At least one spring, I was considering looking elsewhere for a summer job.  I waited until late in the spring to call Mr. Evans and let him know I would like to return to the Crab House that year.  Mr. Evans seemed to know what I had been contemplating.  He didn’t say much about it, but said just enough to let me know it bothered him that I had felt the need to consider going someplace else for summer work.  I can only recall thinking about not returning that one year.

But if I had, in fact, done something else with my summers, I would not have learned about young love, a first hand experience I shall be sure to try to relate to my own children.  I would have forfeited the opportunity to work with a wide variety of young kids of all kinds of backgrounds.  The Crab House was a training ground for relationships.  I would have missed all that. 

And I would not have had the opportunity to work with a couple 50 years my senior, and to develop a friendship with that couple that went far beyond an employee/employer relationship. 

I do not think the fruit of that experience is over yet.  I fully expect some day to have an opportunity to befriend a young man or woman 50 years my junior and be able to influence their lives as you and Mr. Evans did mine.  And at that time, I expect to hear an almost-audible bell go off in my head, and I’ll say to myself… Now this is why I spent five of the most impressionable years of my life with the Evans'.