Cieslak, I am told, is the Polish word for “carpenter.”
But if you were to watch some of us in action, you’d swear it was the term for “irony.” Gary and I are flat out dangerous with a hammer, and a nail gun would become a lethal weapon in our hands.
Yes, Jeff is modestly handy around the house I’m sure, and Calvin’s dad, D-Rave, has always been mechanically inclined, even doing good, basic auto repair.
But we just don’t live up to the name.
Here in my office sits a small wooden box with leather handle. It is a tool box, built by hand a long time ago by Grandpa William Cieslak. Inside are some musty old tools, including a carpenter’s plane. I’ve often turned this curious object over in my hands, imagining the many useful items he fashioned using this simple implement. Furniture, farm sheds, and even homes.
And I’ve always felt this deep sense of somehow being cut off—not just from the legacy of craftsmanship, but from a country, a language, and world I never knew.
Strange—I’ve always had this intense interest in family history, but there just isn’t very much. It’s a thin story: Grandpa sailed into Boston harbor when he was seventeen. Details about his father Michael are sketchy and few. William’s son, my dad, understood the Polish overhead in his house when he was a little boy, but never really spoke it. And now it’s almost gone.
But what if…
What if Cieslak was not simply the Polish word for carpenter, but rather synonymous with the phrase “to build something with one’s life”? Build a home, build a family, build something of value to others in this world.
In that light, my brothers and sisters have continued that legacy.
And now it’s up to their sons and daughters.
Go build something.
But if you were to watch some of us in action, you’d swear it was the term for “irony.” Gary and I are flat out dangerous with a hammer, and a nail gun would become a lethal weapon in our hands.
Yes, Jeff is modestly handy around the house I’m sure, and Calvin’s dad, D-Rave, has always been mechanically inclined, even doing good, basic auto repair.
But we just don’t live up to the name.
Here in my office sits a small wooden box with leather handle. It is a tool box, built by hand a long time ago by Grandpa William Cieslak. Inside are some musty old tools, including a carpenter’s plane. I’ve often turned this curious object over in my hands, imagining the many useful items he fashioned using this simple implement. Furniture, farm sheds, and even homes.
And I’ve always felt this deep sense of somehow being cut off—not just from the legacy of craftsmanship, but from a country, a language, and world I never knew.
Strange—I’ve always had this intense interest in family history, but there just isn’t very much. It’s a thin story: Grandpa sailed into Boston harbor when he was seventeen. Details about his father Michael are sketchy and few. William’s son, my dad, understood the Polish overhead in his house when he was a little boy, but never really spoke it. And now it’s almost gone.
But what if…
What if Cieslak was not simply the Polish word for carpenter, but rather synonymous with the phrase “to build something with one’s life”? Build a home, build a family, build something of value to others in this world.
In that light, my brothers and sisters have continued that legacy.
And now it’s up to their sons and daughters.
Go build something.
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