Part 1
I had a wonderful
childhood.
Being under 10 in the late 1960’s was a joy beyond description. It
was such a happy and uncomplicated time. To my young eyes the sky was tall and
blue and the air seemed clean and fresh and smelled like cut grass. Magpies called
and cackled to each other in the green trees and everywhere the sun shone down
and kept us warm.
You could dress up like a cowboy and blaze away at people
with your little silver six shooter with no frowning faces or offers of a good
therapist.
The journey toward working with my hands
began early, mainly because I couldn't keep them still. As a little kid I loved
building plastic model aircraft, mainly to blow up in fiery air-crashes that
occurred tragically and very frequently in our backyard. I was always fascinated
with how things work and was constantly getting into varying degrees of trouble
for pulling those same things apart.
Sadly, I wasnt really
mechanically-minded though, except for the time when I was 9 when me, my cousin
Gary and our little fox terrier called "Kelly" found ourselves all
alone with my dad's shiny new Suffolk Punch Self Propelled Lawn Mower one cool Autumn morning when we pulled the head and any removable parts off it when he and my mother were out doing
the grocery shopping.
That day our memories were a little hazy
and we couldnt quite recall the fact that screws come off with a thing called
a screwdriver and not pliers. Also, that the removal of a carberetta and its
housing won’t go well for anyone
using a hammer. Strangely though, it didn’t seem to matter much at the time
seeing as how Gary and I were getting busy launching our engineering careers.
..... watch this space for Part 2
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