My dad worked for Harley Davidson in York and my parents thought our lives were set, so they bought some land in Hellam, PA. (About 15 minutes from our Wrightsville house.) My mom and dad's dreamhouse was going to be built there. My dad told me that I could help him build it if I listened to everything he said.
Some family friends, the Quinns, lived in the same development in Wrightsville and they decided to build a house next to us. In the summer of 1982, we built those two houses together and I learned, essentially, what it takes to build a home. Nothing about financing one, but how to actually build it.
I still remember the smell around a house being built. Every time I smell fresh cut wood it brings me back to that summer. I bonded with my Dad and Bob in the heat and dirt. Just a few years ago, my dad was the president of Habitat for Humanity in the Poconos and I helped him build a few homes, it still made me think about that summer.
We'd hop in the car early in the morning with a bagel or something to eat and we'd drive to the lot. Dad, Bob and I cleared the trees and readied the lot for the backhoe to excavate. I still think that performing all that tree removal work at ten years old helped me develop the farm boy strength I have now. Trust me, I helped alot, I wasn't like a normal ten year old that "helped". My dad told me that he wasn't going to be able to baby me and I had to pull my weight, so I did.
After the foundation and footer were laid and the basement walls were placed by professionals, we did, pretty much, everything else ourselves. Bob worked in construction and knew alot of electricians and plumbers and they did the dirty work so it was up to inspector standards.
I remember we were putting the roof on one hot day and I was thirsty. Now, Bob was the kind of guy that had a beer in his toolbelt in place of a hammer, which he'd carry. He laughed at me and said, "Here!" and smirked. I looked at my dad and he was laughing, but he didn't look at me like, "Don't even think about it." So I grabbed the Old Milwaukee and took a chug. As I did so, my mom drove into the bumpy dirt driveway in her Horizon. She flipped out, "What in the Hell? What is my son doing on the roof!" Then she saw the beer. My mom didn't talk to Bob for about 3 hours after that. She yelled, "Roy, Get him off the roof before I come up there and kick your ass!" My dad said, "He's fiinnnnee, Brenda" in his don't-mother-him-so-much tone that he used often during that summer. Then my mom left and with her, our hopes of getting lunch delivered left too.
Looking back on it, I'm glad my dad and Bob let me be a man that day. It turns out, we moved out of that house in a couple of years, we ended up building another house, that my parents now live in, in the summer of 1991. He really didn't need to teach me anything that time because he already had. I remember it all as if it were yesterday.
Some family friends, the Quinns, lived in the same development in Wrightsville and they decided to build a house next to us. In the summer of 1982, we built those two houses together and I learned, essentially, what it takes to build a home. Nothing about financing one, but how to actually build it.
I still remember the smell around a house being built. Every time I smell fresh cut wood it brings me back to that summer. I bonded with my Dad and Bob in the heat and dirt. Just a few years ago, my dad was the president of Habitat for Humanity in the Poconos and I helped him build a few homes, it still made me think about that summer.
We'd hop in the car early in the morning with a bagel or something to eat and we'd drive to the lot. Dad, Bob and I cleared the trees and readied the lot for the backhoe to excavate. I still think that performing all that tree removal work at ten years old helped me develop the farm boy strength I have now. Trust me, I helped alot, I wasn't like a normal ten year old that "helped". My dad told me that he wasn't going to be able to baby me and I had to pull my weight, so I did.
After the foundation and footer were laid and the basement walls were placed by professionals, we did, pretty much, everything else ourselves. Bob worked in construction and knew alot of electricians and plumbers and they did the dirty work so it was up to inspector standards.
I remember we were putting the roof on one hot day and I was thirsty. Now, Bob was the kind of guy that had a beer in his toolbelt in place of a hammer, which he'd carry. He laughed at me and said, "Here!" and smirked. I looked at my dad and he was laughing, but he didn't look at me like, "Don't even think about it." So I grabbed the Old Milwaukee and took a chug. As I did so, my mom drove into the bumpy dirt driveway in her Horizon. She flipped out, "What in the Hell? What is my son doing on the roof!" Then she saw the beer. My mom didn't talk to Bob for about 3 hours after that. She yelled, "Roy, Get him off the roof before I come up there and kick your ass!" My dad said, "He's fiinnnnee, Brenda" in his don't-mother-him-so-much tone that he used often during that summer. Then my mom left and with her, our hopes of getting lunch delivered left too.
Looking back on it, I'm glad my dad and Bob let me be a man that day. It turns out, we moved out of that house in a couple of years, we ended up building another house, that my parents now live in, in the summer of 1991. He really didn't need to teach me anything that time because he already had. I remember it all as if it were yesterday.
