sand. Thick wooden timbers anchored in concrete poked out from the ground in what at first appeared to be a haphazard fashion.
“Hullo, Danny,” the padre said and gave him a big smile. “What can I do for you today?”
“I’d like to know if there’s anything that I can do for you, actually. You know, help out around here a bit.”
Father Rivera’s eyes glinted and his thick black eyebrows popped up. “Your timing couldn’t be better!” He swept an arm towards a pile of cardboard boxes that were stacked neatly alongside the red brick church. “I need someone who can put together some playground equipment. Mr. Romeo donated his time and some of the materials, and was able to get the timbers set in concrete last weekend, but he didn’t have the time to put the equipment up. If you’re willing to do it, I’ve got all the tools.” Danny remembered that his father had mentioned that there were plans to get the playground equipment up, but that Sal Romeo would be doing it. He figured he could handle it, though. With that, Father Rivera hustled into a storage shed just inside the building and came back with a big red toolbox.
“Everything’s in here,” he said, and paused. “You do know how to use power tools, eh?” He gave him an inquiring look.
“ Of course ,” Danny said, hoping his little fib wouldn’t be noticed. “Not a problem. However, I work best with a plan. Are there instructions to go with the equipment?”
“No problem, everything’s in the boxes. Mr. Romeo marked all of the timbers to indicate which parts of the equipment are attached to each timber. Box A, B, C, etc. You shouldn’t have a problem with this at all.”
“One more question, Father. Can I let Long Shot run around inside here? She won’t get into any trouble.”
“Absolutely,” smiled the priest, kneeling and massaging the dog’s ears. “She’s a real beauty.” He went inside and Danny surveyed the boxes. He laughed to himself as he saw “S. Romeo” on the box. Wherefore art thou, Romeo? he thought, then remembered that the priest had pronounced it “Roe- may -o.” It was still funny, though.
He began putting pieces of the equipment neatly on the ground. One step at a time , he said to himself. He opened the first box and metal pieces and a sealed bag of nuts and bolts clattered out. Along with it came a sheet of instructions. Just follow each step, one step at a time . He remembered the Dale Carnegie quote. “Much of the best work of the world has been done against seeming impossibilities.” This would not be impossible, he hoped.
He worked for two and a half hours, drilling, measuring, and hammering things into place. By the end of this first day he had put the first stand-up pod together — the pod looked like a small clubhouse perched on top of the timbers, and he had assembled and attached a bright yellow slide to it. He came back the next day and added monkey bars and swings. By the third day he had put up the second standing pod, and assembled and attached a hanging bridge that connected one pod to the other. On the fourth day he added ladders and a rope swing to the equipment.
Each day, Long Shot accompanied him. She’d sniff around the playground perimeter, play with a chew toy Danny brought along, and then settle down in the shade for a nap. When Danny was done, Father Rivera came out to take a long, careful look at the colourful combination of wood, metal, and shiny plastic.
“By golly, Danny, you did a wonderful job. Your parents will be proud of you.”
“If it’s all the same to you, Father, please don’t mention this to my folks. I just wanted to do something, make something , you know? I just wanted to be helpful.”
“Well, my son, this is a great help to the church and the daycare. The little children will really enjoy it. You’ve done a wonderful job.” He offered Danny a firm handshake. Danny winced slightly — the priest was stronger than he looked — and Danny’s
“Hullo, Danny,” the padre said and gave him a big smile. “What can I do for you today?”
“I’d like to know if there’s anything that I can do for you, actually. You know, help out around here a bit.”
Father Rivera’s eyes glinted and his thick black eyebrows popped up. “Your timing couldn’t be better!” He swept an arm towards a pile of cardboard boxes that were stacked neatly alongside the red brick church. “I need someone who can put together some playground equipment. Mr. Romeo donated his time and some of the materials, and was able to get the timbers set in concrete last weekend, but he didn’t have the time to put the equipment up. If you’re willing to do it, I’ve got all the tools.” Danny remembered that his father had mentioned that there were plans to get the playground equipment up, but that Sal Romeo would be doing it. He figured he could handle it, though. With that, Father Rivera hustled into a storage shed just inside the building and came back with a big red toolbox.
“Everything’s in here,” he said, and paused. “You do know how to use power tools, eh?” He gave him an inquiring look.
“ Of course ,” Danny said, hoping his little fib wouldn’t be noticed. “Not a problem. However, I work best with a plan. Are there instructions to go with the equipment?”
“No problem, everything’s in the boxes. Mr. Romeo marked all of the timbers to indicate which parts of the equipment are attached to each timber. Box A, B, C, etc. You shouldn’t have a problem with this at all.”
“One more question, Father. Can I let Long Shot run around inside here? She won’t get into any trouble.”
“Absolutely,” smiled the priest, kneeling and massaging the dog’s ears. “She’s a real beauty.” He went inside and Danny surveyed the boxes. He laughed to himself as he saw “S. Romeo” on the box. Wherefore art thou, Romeo? he thought, then remembered that the priest had pronounced it “Roe- may -o.” It was still funny, though.
He began putting pieces of the equipment neatly on the ground. One step at a time , he said to himself. He opened the first box and metal pieces and a sealed bag of nuts and bolts clattered out. Along with it came a sheet of instructions. Just follow each step, one step at a time . He remembered the Dale Carnegie quote. “Much of the best work of the world has been done against seeming impossibilities.” This would not be impossible, he hoped.
He worked for two and a half hours, drilling, measuring, and hammering things into place. By the end of this first day he had put the first stand-up pod together — the pod looked like a small clubhouse perched on top of the timbers, and he had assembled and attached a bright yellow slide to it. He came back the next day and added monkey bars and swings. By the third day he had put up the second standing pod, and assembled and attached a hanging bridge that connected one pod to the other. On the fourth day he added ladders and a rope swing to the equipment.
Each day, Long Shot accompanied him. She’d sniff around the playground perimeter, play with a chew toy Danny brought along, and then settle down in the shade for a nap. When Danny was done, Father Rivera came out to take a long, careful look at the colourful combination of wood, metal, and shiny plastic.
“By golly, Danny, you did a wonderful job. Your parents will be proud of you.”
“If it’s all the same to you, Father, please don’t mention this to my folks. I just wanted to do something, make something , you know? I just wanted to be helpful.”
“Well, my son, this is a great help to the church and the daycare. The little children will really enjoy it. You’ve done a wonderful job.” He offered Danny a firm handshake. Danny winced slightly — the priest was stronger than he looked — and Danny’s
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