An Old Piece Of Wood
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We all have a name that we use as our own label,
Carried down from generations of family so stable.
So we write our names on things for people to see.
I guess that our names are what defines you and me.
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An Old Piece Of Wood
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When I was 16 years old as a young man in school,
At Phillips High, home of the Blackhawks so cool,
I took an elective course called Wood Shop, so grand
Allowing me to build wooden things with my hands.
Phillips High School
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My very first project was a name plaque for my Dad.
The shop teacher planed a rough cut board he had,
Made of cedar to 3/4 inch thick and cut me off two feet,
For me too use to make that name plaque so sweet.
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I sanded it until it was very smooth on both sides,
Then I set up my Dads name with a metal letter guide,
And transferred it to the cedar on the name plaque,
Then gouged the letters out with a hand router rack.
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I used the jig saw to cut out the designs on the ends,
Then sanded it until it was smooth as a babies skin.
I painted the inside of the letters black to show up good,
Then gave 10 coats of shellac to that piece of wood.
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I added two nice eye bolts to the top center of the run,
And my masterpiece plaque was ready to be hung.
Dad hung my plaque centered over the porch steps,
Making me feel so proud inside that I almost wept.
The old name plaque still looks good after 57 years.
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That plaque hung there until he moved his house,
To Fritch, Texas, when he moved there with his spouse.
In about 1976, after the Phillips explosion so bad,
He hung that plaque over the new porch he had.
If you look closely, you can see my name plaque hanging to the right of my Dad’s head in this 1974 Photo.
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I brought that plaque to Bartlesville after they died,
In early 2001 after laying them to rest as we cried.
I hung that old name plaque in my basement here,
And there it has stayed for sixteen more long years.
The old name plaque hung in my basement many years. That’s Buffalo Bob and MaMo dancing in the basement.
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It still looks good after hanging outside 42 years,
Thinking about it makes me want to cry some real tears.
It’s hard to believe the memories that live in that plaque,
When I saw it yesterday it really did take me back.
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Perhaps that’s why we keep old things of no value,
To help us remember the old times right out of the blue.
Letting us relive those times that we did love so much,
Bringing us joy as codgers as our minds they touch.
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The fact that I could write a story poem this long
About a block of wood with a name, seems so wrong,
I guess it’s the memories it jarred loose making the story,
That gives the wood plaque all of its personal glory.
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By Bill
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Thanks for reading An Old Piece Of Wood,
Bill