Then again, when had he ever taken much pride in what he could do? He’d been taking things apart and putting them back together since he was six years old. Dad got pissed as hell when he took apart the old, vintage radio he found stashed in one of the barns. It was a relic, one of those standalone kinds that hadn’t been seen for fifty or more years. Still, Shane wanted to examine the guts of it and see what made it tick. He spent several afternoons in his spare time dissembling the apparatus and laying all the parts around him. It looked like utter chaos. Like he ripped the thing apart in a fit of temper. But he hadn’t. He very carefully and meticulously took each wire and fitting out. He knew exactly where everything was located. He also knew exactly how to put it back together. But Dad discovered it before he had a chance to do so. He nearly lost his mind at Shane, and yelled until his face turned red. How could Shane ruin the stereo? It was a treasured heirloom from Shane’s grandparents, Shane’s dad’s parents. Shane’s father kept it all these years, fully intending to have it fixed someday and get it working again like it was when his dad was young.
His dad refused to listen when Shane tried to explain that he did fix it. Or at least, Shane found the bad wire and was ready to put it all back together. But his dad, in a fit of ill temper, swiped all the parts everywhere with his arm, thus messing up their placement order. His action prevented Shane from fixing it again, and he got grounded for three weeks before the old stereo was ultimately thrown out.
From then on, Shane kept his curiosity confined to old farm equipment or items he had explicit permission to tear apart and put back together. Dad never got mad at that. He could tinker and mess up all the old shit he wanted.
Later on Shane moved onto cars, trucks, tractors, the list was endless and everyone knew where they could drop any broken-down tractors, trucks, or combines… basically anything in need of repair that was made from metal and had a motor ended up on Shane’s doorstep.
After his parents died, he retreated into his own world of all the scrap junk he could explore and tinker with. He was thirteen when he took over the shop he now worked in. The shop was previously used to house a bunch of vehicles from Rydell history. They included some pretty ancient ploughs, as well as several rusted out old models of trucks. Shane fixed almost all of the old equipment and hauled everything out over the years, finding different carports and storage sheds to keep them in. Eventually, he started using the entire shop. He always had about five projects going at once, and a good twenty more sitting around, things he planned to get to someday. He needed that much variety. He rarely worked on one thing at a time until it was done, but did several at once, which helped him focus better. He usually kept his shop locked because if anyone messed with one of his ongoing projects, he was screwed.
To an outsider, it looked like a total jumble of parts and scraps surrounding each individual project, but in reality, Shane knew exactly where each and every piece was, as well as why he placed it there. His photographic memory could recall every single component, but only as long as no one messed with his filing process. He spent most of his time in the shop. In his teen-aged years, he hid inside there on afternoons and weekends. That is, whenever he wasn’t out carousing, or causing trouble, or hanging with his friends.
Jack approved wholeheartedly of Shane’s hobby and natural resourcefulness when it came to keeping the ranch stocked with running vehicles. Shane’s free labor and all he provided did not go unappreciated by Jack. But his dad never ceased trying to make Shane do more chores around the ranch. Cleaning the stalls, feeding the horses, maintaining the tack… Shane did them all. And hated every moment of it.
The last time he saw his parents, Dad in
His dad refused to listen when Shane tried to explain that he did fix it. Or at least, Shane found the bad wire and was ready to put it all back together. But his dad, in a fit of ill temper, swiped all the parts everywhere with his arm, thus messing up their placement order. His action prevented Shane from fixing it again, and he got grounded for three weeks before the old stereo was ultimately thrown out.
From then on, Shane kept his curiosity confined to old farm equipment or items he had explicit permission to tear apart and put back together. Dad never got mad at that. He could tinker and mess up all the old shit he wanted.
Later on Shane moved onto cars, trucks, tractors, the list was endless and everyone knew where they could drop any broken-down tractors, trucks, or combines… basically anything in need of repair that was made from metal and had a motor ended up on Shane’s doorstep.
After his parents died, he retreated into his own world of all the scrap junk he could explore and tinker with. He was thirteen when he took over the shop he now worked in. The shop was previously used to house a bunch of vehicles from Rydell history. They included some pretty ancient ploughs, as well as several rusted out old models of trucks. Shane fixed almost all of the old equipment and hauled everything out over the years, finding different carports and storage sheds to keep them in. Eventually, he started using the entire shop. He always had about five projects going at once, and a good twenty more sitting around, things he planned to get to someday. He needed that much variety. He rarely worked on one thing at a time until it was done, but did several at once, which helped him focus better. He usually kept his shop locked because if anyone messed with one of his ongoing projects, he was screwed.
To an outsider, it looked like a total jumble of parts and scraps surrounding each individual project, but in reality, Shane knew exactly where each and every piece was, as well as why he placed it there. His photographic memory could recall every single component, but only as long as no one messed with his filing process. He spent most of his time in the shop. In his teen-aged years, he hid inside there on afternoons and weekends. That is, whenever he wasn’t out carousing, or causing trouble, or hanging with his friends.
Jack approved wholeheartedly of Shane’s hobby and natural resourcefulness when it came to keeping the ranch stocked with running vehicles. Shane’s free labor and all he provided did not go unappreciated by Jack. But his dad never ceased trying to make Shane do more chores around the ranch. Cleaning the stalls, feeding the horses, maintaining the tack… Shane did them all. And hated every moment of it.
The last time he saw his parents, Dad in
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