Skip to main content

Musing About "Skills"


An experience over childhood was to try my hands at different crafts and train them. These included the more leisurely folding papers to make aeroplanes and boats to the more serious "origami" and handicraft pursuits. I am probably one of those who grew up being given the opportunity to try a wide variety of making things (handicrafts). Though the case has not been one where these skills have developed into a more "professional" take.

Growing up with a mother who insisted that we (I and my siblings) try our hands at almost everything, I have often ended up doing things that would be considered "unorthodox" for a boy - from picking pre-drawn patterns on fabric to knitting socks, to weaving belts and picking cross stitches (I bet I can do it better than most average people). By the age of 10, I was already on the way to a typing institute after school hours (for about 3 times a week, if my memory serves me right) to learn to type on the good old typewriter. The reason being that my mother wanted me to learn to play the piano, but since we could not afford a "keyboard" just then, she reasoned typing was the next best option to keep my fingers exercising. I was probably quite a sight to see me - legs dangling typing away the lessons - for the adult students there to train professionally. They would come around to watch as I typed away the lessons. Music classes eventually followed and it went on for the next five years.

All these experiences of making stuffs (bows and arrows, bamboo spears to throw at banana trees; shaping a wooden spoon, learning to sharpen knives and machetes, making clay candle stands and toys and much more) have provided me perspectives on life, training of what it is like to persevere and experience the joy of being able to create something beautiful.

As time changes, these experiences of working with one's hands are fading. We seem to live in a world where for all the advancement in technology, the younger generation is growing up glued to a screen that fits their hands. I am not clamoring for a return to the past, but I do want opportunities to be created for experiencing the joy of being able to create. For me this happened again a couple of weeks ago when I took an old bag and got it remade into a small pens and note holder. It is not the best in the making, but having it made is a pride and a joy to cherish.

I also did this project (if I may so call it) for another reason which will be mentioned in passing but not in the finest details. It has to do with my boss who was the son of a Jewish carpenter, and I reckon he picked up the skill of his father's trade (and I would contend that he was much more than a carpenter). Some of those he taught were fisherman by trade; a later follower was a tanner who hosted others; still another was known as a tentmaker; and one who would travel to India many, many years later was known as a cobbler. It is to their honour and their legacy that this small project was carried out. It was also to remind myself that skills are still beautiful (and useful) for those of us who walk in the footsteps of the Man of Galilee.

Comments

Popular posts from this blog

The Boy on the Bus

He was just a boy on the bus, calling out to people to get on board. His eyes counted the empty seats and his voice called out for people to fill them up. I watched as he checked to see all the seats were taken and then he called out to the driver to start the bus. The trip to the town began and he came around collecting the fares - little hands gripping the bills and the coins inspecting the bills carefully and returning changes. He did it with ease, after all he was used to it. I couldn't but help think about this little boy as I watched him from my seat. Perhaps another of his age would have been delighted to go on such a ride. Another would have loved the sights of the "world" passing by but this boy kept his eyes on his little hands with the fares and the change. What might have been a delight to another was to him a routine. He will step down not because he has reached his destination but a stop to let people down and take in others. The youngest on board, he w...

Hope

What does hope look like? In a conference, we were each given play clay and asked to shape an object that symbolized hope for us as individuals. Everyone set to work with much excitement. Most of us a little unsure about the task, looking around at what the early starters were making, some small discussions and giggling as we each set to decide on an object to shape. Eventually, we all finished and with much delight looked at what each of us crafted.  Hope may appear different from person to person but having hope is a shared phenomenon. Losing hope is also a sad reality, but that is for another time. Our symbols of hope may also change as we grow and gain richer and deeper experience in life. One of the poems that I now resonate with a little more is William Butler Yeats' A Prayer For My Daughter . I look at this as a prayer of hope that Yeats expresses for his daughter as a storm, symbolising a chaotic world she would grow up in, rages on. Like Yeats, I have the joy of being a f...

Class of 2022

Every year, around this time a batch of students graduate and the whole community goes through the process of bidding "good-byes" and "see yous". It is indeed a day of mixed emotions as achievements are celebrated and the reality of parting of ways (but hopefully not of friendships) sets in. Every year, I walk the down the line to congratulate the graduates and wish them knowing fully well that some I will never meet again, at least in this life, though bits of news may make through now and then. A few hours ago today, we went through this whole process and finished off the academic year. Some are now back home, safe and sound, others travelling still; some are going back home with much joy to loved ones, some are going back with a heavy heart having lost loved ones in the near past. However, whatever may be the case, this fact remains "the journey is done and God has seen us through" and this is worth honouring. As such, as an old timer I writ...