Glue and Sympathy
Glue and Sympathy
Like many of you when I retired the most frequently asked question I faced had a common denominator. After genuine congratulations, everyone wanted to know what I was going to do with ‘all’ of my newly liberated free time. Anticipating this well intended onslaught, I did have a plan in mind beyond the sarcasm infused list of ready replies.
When I was a catholic grade school student at Immaculate Conception school in Marcus Hook, I developed a predictable collection of interests that demanded to be fed. Along with sports, and science, I spent HOURS learning about World War II. This interest became a three-dimensional obsession when someone introduced me to scale models. I was sure that nothing could be cooler than having replicas of the iconic machines that battled the Axis. My birthday is in July, and just as soon as my father’s shiftwork schedule relented, most of the currency sequestered in Hallmark birthday cards went to work burning a hole in my Wrangler jeans on our way to Kiddie City.
The scale model aisle stretched to an unseen point that manifested the mathematical concept of infinity. The abundance of choices spoke to me from every direction. Every box cover depicted the hero vehicle it contained. The scene either showed the equipment engaged in a desperate battle with the enemy, or being maintained by the war weary crew. All was right with the world as we exited the toy store headed home to inspire envy in the neighborhood kids.
Armed with a pair of scissors and orange and white tubes of Testors hobby glue, the hasty school of engineering opened for business on the floor of the proto man cave known as my bedroom. One by one the sprues surrendered their precision molded parts. Once assembled I expected the fighting machine to roar to life as soon as the glue hardened into bonds that could have surely saved the Titanic.
As you no doubt envisioned several sentences ago, my impatience birthed objects that were plastic suggestions of the vehicle that was promised by the panoramic artwork on the box. It turns out that model glue has quite an affinity for the epidermis. With imperceptible effort every surface I touched bore an indelible replica of my thumb prints. Nearby plastic items if touched surrendered their pristine innocence to the sublime combination of airplane glue and unskilled technique.
Fully 60 years later and following disposal of years of disposing disposable income, the long arc of time finally bestowed upon me the most improved model builder born during the Kennedy administration. On most days, some portion of my time is spent in my basement smiling and working on a retirement plan that started before I could successfully do long division.
