A Blueprint of Encouragement

The floor creaked when I walked into the foyer. Above me hung an old gas lamp that had been converted to electricity. The spirt of the flames cast warm pools of light on the old wooden floor. I glanced to my right and saw a row of desks and an executive office suite tucked away in the corner. A familiar laugh burst through the door, along with my dad. “Jay-boy!” He exclaimed. Enduring, but slightly embarrassing, especially for an eleven-year-old. His long arms wrapped me in a bear hug way. “Let’s get you set up!” He led me around the staircase, past the kitchen area to a door that plunged down into the basement. It was lit with overhead office florescent fixtures, but the dark walls seem to absorb all the light like a cave. We walked around the corner to a small room with a huge machine that took up the width of the room.

My dad flipped an electrical switch, and the beast came to life with an intimidating hum. Big hidden fans started quietly whistling and winding up like a jet engine. My dad got busy twisting knobs, adjusting metal shields, and moving across the metal monster like he was playing an instrument. “Here we go!” He twisted a metal valve. What was that? My wonder was soon removed as the answer came to me like a punch in a face. Ammonia! My eyes started watering immediately and I coughed. My dad burst out laughing. “You’ll get used to it! Help me with this.” He directed me to the metal drawer and pulled open a black plastic package. He pulled out a large sheet of paper that had a faint yellow tint all over it.

“Here, align this drawing on top of the yellow paper.” He instructed as he put a translucent engineering mylar drawing over the top of the paper. “Make sure it is perfectly aligned and then feed it into the light roller here.” I noticed that the machine was starting to glow. It seemed to have a blue tint. I could feel the heat radiating from the clear glass cylinder. I followed my dad’s direction, aligned the sheets, and fed them into the machine. It rolled up and over and appeared in the tray just above the light.

“Notice how the yellow is gone where there was no line work.” It was true! The light had burned off the yellow. He continued, “Feed the yellow paper into the developer. Keep it tight against the conveyor belt.” We curled the once yellow paper into the top part of the monster. It took its time but finally started feeding out into the top tray. The ammonia round-two hit me again. I’m pretty sure I had tears coming down my face by now, but I couldn’t stop looking! The paper was full of blue lines. “See, that’s the blueprint. That wasn’t too bad, was it?” My dad asked, ignoring my gasping and wincing from the smell. “I need to go back upstairs to make some calls. Run the rest of the prints for me.” He started walking out of the room and glanced back at me. I must have had my mouth open because he burst into his signature laugh. “You can do it! I know you can. I’ll be upstairs if you need help.”

Now it was just me and the ammonia dragon. I shook my head and half-heartedly encouraged myself, “That’s right, you can do it, Jay-boy.” Well, it turned out not to be that difficult. I managed to get all the prints he needed and would subsequently run hundreds, no, thousands of prints on that machine over the years. It was magical every time, or maybe it was just the ammonia.

That metal dragon retired many years ago. That old office house is gone, demolished to make room for a new highway. My dad is gone too. I miss him but will forever remember his trust in me. “You can do it, Jay-boy.” It was fuel to face the ammonia behemoth at the time, but more importantly, it taught me the power of encouragement.

Have you encouraged someone else recently? I need to do more of that. We can all use some encouragement and so can those around us. Take a moment today and think about someone you know, a team member, a loved one, or a friend. Encourage them. I know you can do it, and hopefully you can do it without ammonia.

Have a great week!