7: The Electrician's Apprentice
Get yourself a trade, our elders used to say. Education can only get you so far. You need to have practical real-world skills too, if only as a backup plan. Our parents and grandparents learned this lesson for themselves, and that's why they kept repeating it over and over again in our youth. Learn how to fix people's pipes, they'd say, tune up their cars, cook their meals, get their power on, or even mend their shirts–just find work you can do well, and then stick to it.
In the months after I joined the monastery, I was immersed in a litany of cool jobs I never in a million years thought I'd learn how to do. And while I can't honestly say I've retained all the info I learned back then, I'm grateful for all I have remembered ever since.
I learned how to paint rooms, lay carpet, re-tile bathrooms, install hand dryers, sew vestments, set up wood and kindling for a fire, decorate rooms, run electrical lines for new classrooms and chapels, drive a stick shift, build ponds, do laundry for 40 men, cook dinner for 40 men, power-wash patios, and so much more. I even began training to be a barber in my last year there!
Most of all, I was taught to do my work joyfully, to appreciate a job well done, and to see a job through properly from start to finish so the work wouldn't need to be redone again anytime soon.
If any of that sounds exhausting, it was! But it was also, in every imaginable way, an incredible lesson in humility. We were creating, maintaining, and beautifying the high school and grounds, the five floors of the monastery, and the 15-acre retreat house and property besides. The work was never-ending, but the gratification we all felt for the amazing work we did together was worth every ounce of sweat we put in.
My favorite new job among them all though, the one I was consistently assigned to most often, was the electrical crew. The brothers do as much work themselves as they can without hiring outside help, and with a community our size (44 at the time), it made sense for various brothers to learn different trades. So along with three other monks and a few students from the high school, it was my job to handle all kinds of electrical needs across our properties.
I ran wire, installed and replaced outlets and lighting fixtures, learned how to cut wire too, and anything else you can think of regarding electricity. It was exciting! I had my own tool belt with tools I hand-selected at Home Depot, and each new day began at the supply closet beneath our woodworking shop and garage, where we'd collect all the wire, screws, nuts, and caps we needed for the day.
Though the job often tested my fear of heights whenever I had to climb tall scaffolding or be raised up on the hydraulic lift, and tested my claustrophobia and arachnophobia whenever I had to squeeze myself through tiny crawl spaces, for the most part, I was on solid ground or perched atop a ladder, and I really enjoyed the work.
I was able to get dirty too, which–and I really mean this–helped alleviate some of my concerns about coming across as too "prissy". I was pretty sure I was gay, but I'd put all thoughts of a sexual life out of my head as much as possible. Even so, I didn't want to come across as anything other than straight and holy. As an electrician, I was constantly working with my hands, and often sprawled out on dirty floors. My jeans or work pants, depending on the day, got scuffed all the time, as did whatever t-shirts or polo shirts I wore to a work site.
Being an electrician meant I was proving myself as a man. And yes, I know how sexist and silly that sounds now, but it truly appealed to the image I tried so hard to convince others of, as well as myself. I wasn't just some pencil-pushing sweet and sensitive young guy who may or may not be *whispers* secretly a homosexual, I was a man, and I needed others to see that.
Perhaps the most rewarding part about being an electrician was also the most obvious. After hours fiddling with wires and screws, tools and ladders, just being able to flip a switch and see the power or lights come on was extremely gratifying! I literally witnessed the results of my work shining brightly for all to see.
Speaking of turning things on, next week's blog entry will delve into the life of an 18-year-old's struggle to turn off that which was not meant to be turned off: his libido. You don't want to miss that one, so remember to keep tuning in each Tuesday for another new piece of monastic laundry!
Coming Next Week: Resistance is Futile
In the months after I joined the monastery, I was immersed in a litany of cool jobs I never in a million years thought I'd learn how to do. And while I can't honestly say I've retained all the info I learned back then, I'm grateful for all I have remembered ever since.
I learned how to paint rooms, lay carpet, re-tile bathrooms, install hand dryers, sew vestments, set up wood and kindling for a fire, decorate rooms, run electrical lines for new classrooms and chapels, drive a stick shift, build ponds, do laundry for 40 men, cook dinner for 40 men, power-wash patios, and so much more. I even began training to be a barber in my last year there!
Most of all, I was taught to do my work joyfully, to appreciate a job well done, and to see a job through properly from start to finish so the work wouldn't need to be redone again anytime soon.
If any of that sounds exhausting, it was! But it was also, in every imaginable way, an incredible lesson in humility. We were creating, maintaining, and beautifying the high school and grounds, the five floors of the monastery, and the 15-acre retreat house and property besides. The work was never-ending, but the gratification we all felt for the amazing work we did together was worth every ounce of sweat we put in.
My favorite new job among them all though, the one I was consistently assigned to most often, was the electrical crew. The brothers do as much work themselves as they can without hiring outside help, and with a community our size (44 at the time), it made sense for various brothers to learn different trades. So along with three other monks and a few students from the high school, it was my job to handle all kinds of electrical needs across our properties.
I ran wire, installed and replaced outlets and lighting fixtures, learned how to cut wire too, and anything else you can think of regarding electricity. It was exciting! I had my own tool belt with tools I hand-selected at Home Depot, and each new day began at the supply closet beneath our woodworking shop and garage, where we'd collect all the wire, screws, nuts, and caps we needed for the day.
Though the job often tested my fear of heights whenever I had to climb tall scaffolding or be raised up on the hydraulic lift, and tested my claustrophobia and arachnophobia whenever I had to squeeze myself through tiny crawl spaces, for the most part, I was on solid ground or perched atop a ladder, and I really enjoyed the work.
I was able to get dirty too, which–and I really mean this–helped alleviate some of my concerns about coming across as too "prissy". I was pretty sure I was gay, but I'd put all thoughts of a sexual life out of my head as much as possible. Even so, I didn't want to come across as anything other than straight and holy. As an electrician, I was constantly working with my hands, and often sprawled out on dirty floors. My jeans or work pants, depending on the day, got scuffed all the time, as did whatever t-shirts or polo shirts I wore to a work site.
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| My sister Esther and me in the courtyard at Chaminade High School in Mineola, NY |
Being an electrician meant I was proving myself as a man. And yes, I know how sexist and silly that sounds now, but it truly appealed to the image I tried so hard to convince others of, as well as myself. I wasn't just some pencil-pushing sweet and sensitive young guy who may or may not be *whispers* secretly a homosexual, I was a man, and I needed others to see that.
Perhaps the most rewarding part about being an electrician was also the most obvious. After hours fiddling with wires and screws, tools and ladders, just being able to flip a switch and see the power or lights come on was extremely gratifying! I literally witnessed the results of my work shining brightly for all to see.
Speaking of turning things on, next week's blog entry will delve into the life of an 18-year-old's struggle to turn off that which was not meant to be turned off: his libido. You don't want to miss that one, so remember to keep tuning in each Tuesday for another new piece of monastic laundry!
Coming Next Week: Resistance is Futile
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