Warts and Freckles

My father made a desk. It was the most magnificent piece of furniture I’d ever seen, seven feet high (with the bookshelves) and chock full of drawers, compartments, slide-out surfaces and other goodies.

Neighbors came from blocks away to see it as word spread. Yet, he never seemed quite contented. He’d mention flaws and recite a list of things he’d do differently when presented with the chance. No one else saw a thing wrong with it.

I must’ve inherited that from him, although not in woodworking. I recall doing the same thing with a car I built from the frame up and later my work in wordsmithing. I could probably come up with other examples without too much effort. In each case, my reaction to compliments was to think of what could’ve been better.

Today, the kayak I built made its “debut” among a large group of paddlers. They ooed and aahed over it. This time, I decided to just graciously accept it without pointing out the warts and freckles. It was a lot more enjoyable.