I was raised with unskilled
patience. I remember my father’s
correcting hands, delicate and
calloused, work‐hardened
versions of my own.

Back then, machines weren’t
programmed, their intelligence was
mechanical, the zeroes and ones of
a timepiece.

When our washing machine broke, my
father freed it of its concerns and
demands, then he carefully
reassembled, notch by lever by spring
by gear, the timing of its decisions.

I was his basement
companion, tool‐handing
apprentice, witness to soft
curses,
honored third hand to hold a clip in
place.

My father was a master of time.
When he was five, his father moved
away.
Waiting for him to return left its mark.
I was raised with unskilled patience.

Mike Forecki is a semi-retired attorney who lived in Eau Claire for over 30 years. Read more from Mike.