The Happiness Shop

My uncle Matt called his work area, his workshop. I call mine, my Happy Shop.

    

Uncle Matthew was some kind of all around handyman in our neighborhood. If someone’s airconditioner is busted, he’d call Uncle Matt. If someone’s computer is acting up and needs reformatting, Uncle Matt would always be ready to help.

    That’s why Uncle Matt never ran out of money. The people he served were always so generous with him.

 

Tools are Uncle Matt’s passion. I’d spend my afternoons after school in his workshop and my eyes  would literally widen when I saw all those tools. Tools for wood, tools for metal, tools for plastic, tools for big stuff, tools for small stuff.

    Ever since my father left us, my mom encouraged me to spend my spare time with Uncle Matt. I heard them whispering once, they want me to stay in Uncle Matt’s workshop so that I could stay out of gangs and drugs.

    I think it worked, because I grew up drug-free and gang-free. I had friends of course, but wasn’t in any kind of violent gang, and there’s just too many gangs around in our tough neighborhood.

    I think I was only 12 when Uncle Matt agreed to allow me to use at least two of his power tools: an electric drill for making holes on wood or metal, and a jigsaw for cutting designs on wood. He always emphasized safety and he would literally blow his top off when I would use his tools without any goggles.

There was a time he banned me from his workshop because I did not wear goggles while drilling something for my mom’s kitchen. I was putting a new handle on my mom’s pan and I was drilling on the handle so that I could screw it on the pan. He got so mad when he saw me working without any protection for my eyes.

    I begged my mom to talk to Uncle Matt to allow me to once again go inside the workshop to watch him, or help him,  work on things.

    Finally, after much cajouling and a whole chocolate cake my mom baked for Uncle Matt, he finally agreed to let me stay in the workshop. I remember embracing Uncle Matt and telling him I was so sorry for not wearing protective goggles. He patted my head and smiled at me. It was a very intelligent move on his part, for I always wore protective gear since then.

    Uncle Matt actually stood for my father who had left us.  I learned many things from him that I wouldn’t be able to learn just from reading how to do it books or googling the web.

 

 

    When I went to veterinary school, I saw less and less of Uncle Matt. When I graduated, Uncle Matt was already on a wheelchair suffering from advanced arthritis and diabetes.

    One day, he called for me. As we sat inside his workshop drinking coffee, he said, “This is the key to my workshop. I want you to have all my tools when I’m gone. I feel very weak. I think my time is about up.”

    His hands trembled as he handed me the keys. I stood  up, then I bent to kiss his forehead. We talked about the many appliances and gadgets we fixed for our neighbors. He remembered the time when he would ask me to fix stuff for the neighbors when he wasn’t feeling well. He of course didn’t tell the neighbors that I did the fixing. That was okay with me. Uncle Matt was a perfectionist so when he trusted me to do his work, I was of course very proud to do it for him.

   

 

    It was raining hard when I got a call in the dog clinic which I owned. It was Uncle Matt’s daughter. She told me that he had passed away.

    I had that salty taste in my throat as I spoke with her on the phone. I remembered my voice trembling. She told me that the burial would be on Sunday.

    “Sunday? Of course I would be there.” I said.

    She said good bye and hang up.

    At the burial, his daughter reminded me of the tools that he had left me.

    She said, “You know, my brother was a little bit jealous of you when he learned that he had left all of his tools to you. My brother wanted to sell them; they’re of good quality.”

    “I really don’t mind giving the tools to your brother. Really, I don’t.”

    “Don’t be silly,” she said, “dad wouldn’t like that. He might visit us if we did that, and we don’t like that to happen, now do we.” We both laughed softly. Then I embraced her and thanked her.

 

   

    So here I am in the garage where I had placed all of the tools Uncle Matt had left me. I have a strange feeling that Uncle Matt knew that I would be needing these tools.

Me and my wife Liz had been having frequent marital quarrels lately. She’s now with her mom and sister. We haven’t talked in two weeks. I feel that she’s about to file for divorce. It’s her fault so why would I be the first to call her?

    I’m sawing pieces metal that I would use in a dog cage I’m building. One of my client’s dog has just delivered a litter of pups and he gave me a puppy of my own choice, a brown, cute mixed breed.

    Sure, I can buy a ready made dog cage from the mall but I always felt happy working with Uncle Matt’s tools: fixing things, building things.

    My marriage with Liz is not going well, but I’m happy in my garage. It’s like I’m a little boy again fixing things with Uncle Matt, using his wonderful, high quality power tools.

Uncle Matt used to call his work area, his workshop.

    I call mine, my Happiness Shop. Here, when I’m building things, when I’m repairing things, when I’m tinkering with things, I’m absolutely happy. I enjoyed building that dog cage for the puppy I received.

    I look at the puppy barking inside the cage that I built for him.  I always have that happy, satisfied feeling when I’m able to finish a do it yourself project.

Then I look out the driveway, at the cars passing by.  I sure wish Liz and I am able to solve our differences because I’m still in love with her.

Uncle Matt used to say that his secret with his wife was that no matter who was at fault in a marital quarrel, he’d always be the first to say something.

I smile at the thought of Uncle Matt. My dad may have left us, but Uncle Matt was there for us. And I guess now, he still is.