The Music Playing in the Maze
I remember my first job - Locksmith's apprentice. My first assignment was dispatched from a decrepit toolbox onto our concrete driveway. "Here pick these deadbolt." A day earlier, my father had shown me his arsenal of lock picks and turning wrenches. They were all uniquely bent and crimped to fit just about any cylinder's manifold. "If you can pick those, I'll show you more." I picked them all and by the time I was 12 years old, I could re-key just about any house lock and completely strip down and reassemble the steering columns for General Motors, American Motors or Ford vehicles. I loved that my father taught me this trade. There was something exhilarating about it. I was only about 8 years old when he handed me that bag of locks. I used to see him working with locks all the time, and like any child, I pondered what must have been going on inside of those shiny nobs. Children are good at looking past the surface. When they break things, they a