I love to build things, always have.
I grew up on a farm on which my Dad had a garage where he stored the family car. The time was the early 1950’s and the garage had been there for years, so it was nothing fancy. Just a simple wood framed garage with a dirt floor where the car normally set.
At the front there was a workbench with an old vise mounted. The floor under the workbench was hand poured concrete, sort of level but not perfect, and it extended a couple feet in front of the workbench, allowing for a good solid footing to stand on.
One day, when my Dad was gone to work, and so the car was gone, I decided I was going to build something. I do not remember what, but then you have to realize at the age of four or five, what I wanted to build may have not been much of anything–just something to build.
My Mother was in the kitchen and as normal, knew I was outside doing who knows what. That was normal for me on a farm.
I found an old board, climbed up onto the work bench and mounted it into the vise. Then I got the saw down from the wall hooks where Dad kept it. I set down on the board and planted my feet firmly on the workbench. Then I proceeded to saw the board in two, between me and the vise.
Needless to say, when the board separated, over I went. I fell head first onto the concrete below, and knocked myself unconscious. I’m not sure how long I lay there before I came to. All I remember was falling and later waking up and feeling very woozy.
I staggered to my feet and headed to the house. When i came into the kitchen, my Mother looked at me, saw the color in my face was all gone, and asked me “What happened?”
Being still woozy, it took great effort to tell her that I forgot that you should not saw a board off between you, who was sitting on the board, and the vise itself. Not a wise thing to do. But that was me at a very young age, building anything I could.