I have a toolbox in the back of my Toyota pickup, not back in the truck bed mind you, but behind the seat. My truck has one of those extended cabs, that allows me to drag around a lot more junk than one normally would think of doing.
Most guys do seem to have a toolbox. Guys fix things; it's one of the few reasons the opposite sex tolerates our presence in a domestic setting. It's "a guy sort of thing" to have one. It's who we are and what we do. This is the place were we go to get that one special item we need to fix something. It's where we go to look for that ever-useful set of pliers, or the favorite screwdriver. It also serves at that secret place we stash things from the prying eyes of our "significant others." My box has some hand tools, some computer stuff, and now it includes a set of tarot cards.
Now, most toolboxes actually (although most guys won't admit it) sit in the garage collecting dust. Mine is dutifully carried each day into my place of work. I teach computer courses at a small private college, which occasionally requires the presence of the contents of my toolbox. Normally, I'll need the wire tester or the CD-R pack, which has my collection of software utilities and stuff. When I find I have the time and inclination, I'll reach for my tarot cards and see what the universe has to say.
Like most guys, my toolbox's contents are a private matter. I don't like the idea of folks knowing just what I have, as it may tend to disappear. Most guys are like this. Our toolboxes are private affairs; just as the contents of a lady's handbag is her own affair. I suppose part of this reluctance to share what I have in my toolbox stems from what comments I might receive from other guys who look into my toolbox. Most other "computer geeks" would find my assortment of gadgets and gizmos pretty standard stuff. They might raise their eyebrows at the tarot cards, but it has been my experience that most don't, perhaps realizing that knowledge is attainable from many sources.
My father, on the other hand, has always shown some curiosity in what I actually had in my toolbox, although he was frequently at a loss to understand what some items did. I did catch him poking around in it last summer. He was curious as to what the TP wire tester was, and what the CD-Rs were for, but the hand tools were of no surprise to him. What he couldn't understand was why I had a deck of tarot cards. "What the devil are you doing with tarot cards?" he asked. I told him that every so often, I would have the opportunity to do a reading for one of my friends. "Professionals carry only what tools they need to do the job they're assigned. These tarot cards don't have any business being in a tool box!" he snapped. Well, that's one person's opinion.
Last fall, I did a one-card reading, looking to see how things are between my father and I. The card drawn was the Eight of Cups. Now, this is not surprising, as my dad did have the tendency to simply "go his own way" when it suited him. He wasn't one to follow the crowd, but rather he tended to be one of the hecklers, who's constant hounding is funny at first, and then grows thin. What I didn't realize at the time was that his doctor had told him he had Asbestosis, a form of lung cancer, caused by exposure to asbestos dust. He had known about this for several years, as he was exposed to this deadly killer back during World War II, when he was in the Navy.
After Thanksgiving last year, he started to complain about having no strength left in his arms and legs after doing only a few simple chores. Now, this is the character, who had climbed up onto the roof of his house to mount a satellite dish my siblings and I had bought him as an early Christmas present. My brother asked why he didn't ask for any help. This courted the reply of: "I don't want you kids up on the roof screwing around! I want this Done Right!" I had learned from an early age to just let dad have his own way. If he fell from the roof, well then, he could watch the History Channel in a body cast. After listening to this exchange, I stepped into the house and did another quick one-card reading, and drew the Ten of Wands. I felt from that point on, my father was carrying a burden, which he was finding harder to bear.
In January, my dad was placed on oxygen. He was now one of those poor souls who had to drag an oxygen tank around with them. He told all of us, my brother and I, as well as my two sisters, what the doctor had told him about his condition. "This is something I'm not going to be able to walk away from," he said. At this point, I remember looking at my cards and knowing that while I might do a quick spread to see may be in store, I knew that this was something that I didn't need the cards for. There was a finality in his voice, which told me there was nothing I could do to fix this situation, or alter its' outcome.
My father didn't seem to be angry or scared about his condition, he simply remained steadfast in his "get it done right" attitude. My dad grew up during the Great Depression, and served with the Navy in the Pacific Theater during World War II. He had always faced the world and its problems with the idea that if you have a job to do, you do it as best you could, as you would have to live with the consequences. At some level, he had always been the Ten of Wands, shouldering his burdens and carrying on. The world of his generation was one of burdens and sacrifice, both of which he had seen in full measure.
Like any other guy with a toolbox, I know deep down there are some things that simply cannot be fixed, no matter how hard one might try. Such is the nature of existence on the physical plane. As tarot readers, we are seen by our clients as the few who may be capable of providing some unseen insight into the problems they bring to us. On the surface, some of these problems may appear to be very small or trivial, but to our clients, they are important matters in their lives. They trust us to handle their questions with care and compassion, in that very special way only tarot readers know how to do. We, in turn, must keep in mind that while we can do what we can for our clients, there are some questions we cannot answer, some problems we cannot help with, and some things we cannot fix.
My father died on March 19th, the day the war started with Iraq. He simply took one long, last breath and departed. The card I had drawn for him last fall, the Ten of Wands comes to mind. It's as if he finally became too tired to carry the burden and simply let it go. I think about what sort of person he was and how I will get along without him. I am often told by others that in some ways I am not too dissimilar from my dad, and yet in other ways I'm a very different person than he was. I realize that when those around us pass away, they take with them some of their insight, knowledge and wisdom; and yet in some ways they leave behind much of the same. The vacancy that is left then, is filled by what we do, by who we are, and by what we accomplish for others as time moves on.
During the first week of April, while I am trying to wade through the probate paperwork from my father's estate, I am approached by one of the students at the college where I teach and asked to do a reading. She has heard from some other student that I do tarot readings. She had been talking with her friends, and they had not been kind to her, telling her things that were more hurtful than helpful. I see that her eyes are red, and that she is on the verge of crying. I consent to do a reading for her, after the morning classes, off campus at the local coffee shop. Later that day at the coffee shop, I put aside my personal problems and we sit down. I listen with patience and compassion to her situation, and then I do the very best reading I can for her. The reading will take almost an hour, as I draw the cards and carefully explain what I see. I'll see to it this reading "is done right." My father would have expected nothing less.
Bio: Christopher delaMaison works as a computer and networking technology instructor at a private college in Wilsonville, Oregon. He was introduced to the Tarot through the Scottish Rite Masons over 10 years ago. He is active in the SCA as a tarot card reader, and doumbek drummer. When he is not busy with the SCA, he can be found hanging out with his Sci-Fi friends getting ready for the next OryCon convention.