One man’s discards are another’s treasure or Boys and their toys

I am quickly realizing that working at the preschool has many benefits, they are not at all financial because lord knows that is definitely not even an option in nearly any teaching profession. Everyday I am hugged by each and every one of my clients, they adore me and tell me so often. Not something I got in the mortgage world way back when. My co-workers are awesome, their wealth of knowledge a daily inspiration. And the parents. Oh. My. God. They are still in that phase where they love their kid’s teachers. I understand this perfectly. Devon’s teacher is so amazing. Four days a week she takes him for six hours and teaches him all the things I can’t or won’t. She is such a saint that I would marry her were either of us inclined that way. So the fact that these parents actually wait in line to chat with me after school is something I totally get. Hell, on my two days that I get to pick up Devon from his school I will do nearly anything to catch the teacher’s eye just for a minute or two of her precious time. But I must say the most amazing side dish yet is this:

One of the families owns an excavating business and had this just sitting around at a swanky job site of a renovation. They put the word out that it was available and I, being ever feverish at the word free, jumped at the chance. The father got a few of his guys together, loaded the play structure up with a crane on an enormous flat bed and brought it 50 miles to the Manor. It took a team of five able men the better part of the day to get it here and I couldn’t be happier. There were a few technicalities, one of them being that they needed a front loader of sorts that our neighbor supplied. While on a trek over to the neighbor’s the fellow noticed our barn and asked my mother if he could peek in. Of course she complied, only mentioning the pigeons and their need to shit prolific piles of bird droppings on everything under ass. It turns out the excavating fellow is a bit of a car nut and the contents of our barn, an old Chevy Nova, a vintage fire engine and a vintage Porsche 911 T, fired his soul in way few things can. He told my mom how he had always dreamed of owning a Porsche and was she willing to sell it at some point.
The placement of the play structure took some time and my mother struggled with the dilemma of what to do for the workers. Should she tip them? Invite them in for a snack? She even called me at the school to ask my opinion. By the end of our conversation she had decided to give the head guy a loaf of pumpkin bread and a jar of my homemade jam and his assistants some cash. However, sometime between that thought and the actual end of the job she had a change of heart. When I got home at the end of my day and asked how everything went she replied, “Good. It looks great out there don’t you think? But, ummmm, I gave away the Porsche.” Turns out she opted for the pumpkin bread and the car.
We both sat for awhile remembering how much my father loved that car. How he had once told a client that he had always wanted such a vintage Porsche and had ended up taking it in trade for his services. We both agreed that my father would approve of the car’s new home. And then we both cried and hugged.