Two ways of looking at the same thing

My dad pulled over to the side of the road. I looked over at the instrument panel. Was something wrong? Did he run out of gas? Did we have a flat tire? Why were we stopping?

Before I could ask any questions, my dad had already jumped out of the driver’s seat and was walking to the rear of his truck to check things out. Whatever was wrong must be really bad. I got out quick, trying to catch up, and saw immediately why my dad had stopped.

“Quick open the tailgate and grab that end,” my dad directed.

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Surprise, surprise, look what we found

A neighbor down the road from us had put out an old dresser and a hope chest with a “free” sign along the side of the road. Both pieces of furniture looked like they had seen better days. The hope chest looked like it should have been sent directly to the landfill. It looked like it had been dropped from a skyscraper or, more appropriate to where we lived, the second story hayloft of a barn. The hope chest was in several different pieces. When we driving, I hadn’t even notice either piece, it just looked like trash along the side of the road.

My dad though saw something bigger. He could see natural beauty when others saw nothing more than junk. He saw signs of what both pieces could become with a little TLC. Of course, I laughed at my dad. I tried to even get him to reconsider, mentioning that the hope chest was going to need a lot of well, er, hope. I mentioned that it looked to be missing a few pieces and was going to need a lot of work. I also pointed out how someone had tried to give the drawers an updated look by painting it an ugly greenish color. If I thought my comments would work, I had another thing coming. They got him more excited.

“Oh, Brian, you’re not looking close enough, you’re missing the good parts. Look at the dovetail joints. Long ago, someone put a lot of love and care into these pieces. You’re missing the craftsmanship. Once I take that paint off, it’s going to look beautiful.”

Knock your socks off

Of course, we loaded the “junk” into his truck. It barely fit, but my dad was happier than a kid on Christmas Eve. “What a steal, what a steal,” he kept saying over and over. When we got home, my mom laughed too. However, she was used to my dad and I suspect she was laughing more at my surprise than at him. No matter, he repeated his statement: “Just you wait.”

We unloaded the furniture into our basement and I forgot all about it. I didn’t care to join in on the Herculean task. Two weeks later, my dad called me to the basement. I thought something was wrong, he seemed to be upset. When I got to the basement, though, he asked me to take a look at two new pieces he had just “received.”

Image by Pexels.

He had a beautiful cherry dresser in the corner and it shined. It looked like something off a showroom floor. “Where’d you get this?” I asked. Clients would regularly ask my dad for help restoring or fixing old furniture. I just assumed he had gotten the dresser from one of his regulars. (His clients were always a bone of contention between us because my dad never seemed to charge enough for his work. I always thought he was being taken advantage of by his well-to-do clients and wanted him to boost his rates.)

However, when I looked closer, I saw a new hope chest setting off to the side. I realized that he had completely restored both pieces. What wasn’t worth our time stopping along the side of the road two weeks earlier, now looked like something that you’d see in a Victorian mansion. They looked like expensive museum pieces.

In for a real treat

My dad would do this countless times in his life. He proved over and over again that one man’s trash is another man’s treasure. I write about how courage is similar to the trash and treasure metaphor in my piece, In the eye of the beholder, on The Heart of the Matter. I make the comparison to how one person’s crazy is another person’s courage and vice versa.

As far as my dad goes, I wish I picked up his ability to see beauty in a trash heap and to bring furniture and antiques back to their original glory. Unfortunately, his carpentry skills skipped right over me, but I like to think that I’ve picked up one of his skills — his ability see the big picture and understand the importance of having a little faith, hope and love.

Let me know what you think.

Related story:

In the eye of the beholder

on the Heart of The Matter