Broken things

     His body ached with the pains of his past, his mind on constant alert for newcomers. He shouldn’t work so hard but being lazy is reserved for the few times he gets sick. Being old is a choice and he chooses not to get that label. When there is a job to do he rises early giving enough time for a good breakfast and packing a simple lunch consisting of one raw onion, a chunk of hard bread and a small flask of red wine. With his tools stored in an old burlap bag slung over his shoulder, he walks to the bus stop and waits. Reaching his destination, a school for troubled boys he heads for the entrance and is ready for the day. Not all kids are destined for collage and bright futures. Some are much like himself and choices are few in life. For decades he made a good living fixing broken things and now he teaches his craft hoping to pass it along to a few that have the desire to learn. To date he has helped so many young people he has lost count, but he knows that if he does get to old someday and can’t do the work himself all he has to do is go on that computer thing and look up “Fixing broken things”

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