Father's Workshop
“What are you making?” asked the son. “You'll see,” said the father. The son was fascinated by all the tools in his father's workshop. Normally he wasn't allowed in here. His father always made excuses. “You'll hurt yourself,” he'd say, “there's sharp edges and heavy tools.” If the son persisted and promised to be careful he'd say, “I have an important contraption to build for the king. I can't let myself be distracted by you.” “I'll stay out of your way and just watch,” the son would say, but the father wouldn't budge. “When you're older.” But today the son hadn't needed to plea and beg. “Come,” the father had said and left the workshop door open behind him. What was different about today? The son hadn't had a birthday. He was still thirteen. The father had come down hurried after some talk with the king, so it was safe to assume that it was another of his orders. The son walked around the shelves. He would stop every two or three steps and eye the curious tools and materials. Presently, he picked up a shiny rock of a kind he'd never seen before. He adjusted the spectacles his father had crafted him and inspected the rock more closely. “Don't touch that,” his father commented while drawing up some plans on a piece of paper. The son put the rock back and picked up a piece that looked like a couple of pencils put together in some zig-zag formation. When he unfolded the first angle all the other angles unfolded with it and the whole piece extended to an incredible length. “Give me that,” the father growled, taking the piece and using it to draw a big arced line on his plan. Now the father started actually building something he went around carrying candles and pots, pieces of wood, and bags of something soft. Often the son would be in the way through no fault of his own. The son had had an idea for an invention of his own and started collecting some string, pieces of wood and some tools, a file, a hammer, a saw. He tried to stay out of his father's way while working, but he still earned the occasional annoyed comment and twice his father took the tool he was just using because he needed it himself. But after a couple of hours the two both finished their projects simultaneously. “Look, father, it is an arm extender. You pull this trigger and at the other and these bolts shut and can grasp something for you.” He demonstrated with a rolled up piece of paper that he got from the top shelf. “Very good,” The expression of the father had softened somewhat, “though your system of string pulleys will have trouble producing enough torque to grasp something heavier.” “I had noticed that already. But I have an idea to fix it, maybe I can try tomorrow? What did you make for the king?” “The king? No, these are for us,” said the father and presented two sets of wings he'd built from feathers and wax, “Icarus, we have to leave Crete,” the father sighed looking at his boy, “We have to leave now.”