Concentration

            The heavy apron is tied tightly behind his back. The plastic face shield goes on. The circular saw starts with a kick and a piercing ‘whir’. My father is hunched over, staring at the board in concentration. He’s trying to cut exactly where he marked the wood. I’m watching him from the back porch. I like to watch him work. He does everything with such ease.  

A piece of lumber falls to the ground and he straightens himself. With a relaxed sigh, the face shield comes off. He sets it down next to the saw. The blade revolves slowly as he blows on the excess saw dust.

The dust leaps into the air, springing to life. Forming a wave it begins to slowly drift towards the ground. Like playful children, the shavings dance across the air, floating on the sunlight. I’m mesmerized.

The shrill hiss of steel slicing into lumber encroaches on my daydream. Hunkered back down, that same look of concentration is plastered across his face. I can see the tip of his tongue poking out between his lips.

I realize I’m studying him. Once again, I find myself lost in the details. Sweat collects on different parts of his face. There’s a line of liquid connecting his eyebrows. The rusty beard he wears with such pride looks darker than normal. His shirt is a patchwork quilt of light and dark spots. Arm pits, chest, neck line and back are all snuggly stuck to his body.

He reaches the end of the cut and another piece of lumber tumbles to the ground. Once more the shield comes off. He’s examining the latest cut, running his thumb across the edge. The tape measure comes off his belt. He extends it, lays it down on the rest of the board, and plucks the pencil from behind his ear. A few more marks made. The items go back to their original place.

He looks up from the work bench. Our eyes meet. It takes me a minute to see that he’s now staring at me as intently as I was at him.

“You gonna quit gawkin and give your old man some help?”

His words snatch me up. My tongue is tied up in my mouth.

“No. No, I’m ok. You can just keep going.” I squeak out.

His face shows unexpected surprise. Did I give the wrong answer? Did he really want me to help him? Why would he need my help? He’s doing fine by himself.

“You sure?”

I’m not sure how to answer this time.

“Yeah. I couldn’t do it as good as you anyway.”

With a slight shrug and a sigh the plastic face shield goes back on. The circular saw starts with a kick.