Dad's Lab

When I was young sometimes my Dad would take us to work on a Saturday. It was always because he had an experiment going that needed tending.  My Dad was a Plant Physiologist and worked in an old building downtown. The big laboratory was a magical place with twenty foot tall windows, giant glass condensers wound their way to the high ceiling like crystal snakes, futuristic lab equipment hummed and flickered with little flashing lights.  The soapstone counters were crammed with beakers and flasks and test tubes. As fascinating and fun as the lab was, it was not where we wanted to play, the basement was where we always headed.

The basement was cool, dark and mysterious, with long shadowy corridors holding the detritus of long forgotten experiments. There were plenty of dark rooms and small cubby holes to get lost in. Old wooden work benches held strange dusty scientific equipment and big heavy doors concealed stacks and stacks of apple boxes. On the weekends it was dark, deserted and always a bit scary, a strange mix of familiarity and nervous intimidation.

There were a pair of cold rooms for storing the apples and outside of the cold rooms was an ancient compressor that ran the refrigeration.  That compressor would suddenly start up with a squeal of it’s old pulley belt “wheeeek!” and then the loud rattle of it’s motor sending us scrambling for our lives.  When that compressor ran even the shadows fled from the nooks and crannies, the apples shook in their boxes and the old floor joists would shudder and give up some of their dust. The compressor ruled that basement with a mechanical fury that demanded submission. It’s blood curdling scream would send us running for the stairs where we would burst into the sunshine and bright gleam of the laboratory to find my father calmly sitting on a stool at a counter writing in his notebook. He would look up through the top of his bifocals as we burst into the room and smile at the wide eyed fear written across our faces.  “Oh nothing. We just thought we’d check on you.” we’d lie straight to his knowing smile and then after a few minutes of inspecting the counter tops we’d find the courage to return once more to the shadowy mystery and fun of the basement, that is, until next time the compressor suddenly screamed and sent us scrambling once more.

We never thought much about the future while we played in that basement. There wasn’t much room for contemplation as we explored the shadowy rooms and alcoves, a little bit scared, a little on edge, always pressing onward through that next heavy door, down that farthest dark corridor, to those shadows at the back of the room. Always ready to run up the stairs and burst into that sunlit laboratory with its tall windows and gleaming glassware and find the safety of my father. We always went back downstairs, we always pressed on, strangely attracted by the mystery and secrets to be found down there where the shadows lived and the compressor screamed. We loved the adventure between the fear. We didn’t realize, back then, what my dad and the basement were teaching us, the adventure is always worth the fear, in fact, it’s part of the fun! Don’t let trepidation spoil your desire. Go!