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I was the exact opposite of him, and we frequently got on each other’s nerves. Although he respected me and I respected him, we didn’t really show it very often. I was always running one place or another, skateboarding, e-mailing friends, listening to loud music, and being in school plays. He, on the other hand, lived a quiet life – even by the standards of the elderly. Besides collecting and fixing pocket watches, he played violin now and then, read, and sat by the window watching the day go by. He wasn’t depressed – far from it. Still, at that time, I couldn’t even fathom how he enjoyed his life. It seemed so static, so slow, and so boring.
Now, looking down at my own antique pocket watch spread out on the table, I wonder what has changed my life between now and then. Do i fix pocket watches out of a longing for my grandfather, or have I myself become like them. I know they probably don’t mean the same thing to me that they did to him. He grew up with mechanical clocks and watches, and they were part of his everyday life. He was being nostalgic perhaps, but I am being intentionally quaint.
Nevertheless, I have grown to love looking at the insides of mechanical watches. Seeing all the miniature gears, immaculately machined, ticking beat after beat, hour after hour, is incredible to me. Although digital technology is more impressive in many ways, it doesn’t give you the same visceral sense of what people are capable of. Even more important is the feeling of satisfaction you get from putting something together just a little bit better than before. It wasn’t so much about getting the pocket watches to work for my grandfather, as about the joys of making something run better. I think that joy is something that almost everyone can relate to.