tough tough toys for tough tough boys

About twenty years ago Dad took Paul Wilson to watch the bridge at Wits being swung into place. His girl children disappointed him by showing little to no interest in the event. Perhaps he rented Paul like he rented Kate and David Savage - to have a sprocket at an event where one feels compelled to have one. Beks and I didnt even fake an interest when Dad came home bursting with stories about cranes and hoists and engineering mastery. Sorry Dad, I hope our disinterest wasnt utterly shattering.

I was reminded today of my genetic (gender-ic?) crane watching deficeincy when the construction going on at school, that has until now been carrying on without grandeur or obstruction to justice, reached a whole new level. Overnight it seems, two enourmous cranes have been brought right into the belly of the school. All cars and bikes have been relocated to make way for them and all but the most important building corridors have been cordoned off because the cranes have to operate over them and might crash into them any second. Until now the construction was both silent and invisible; it was like magic elves were fixing the school with magic and we could teach without noise or distraction. Today the cranes changed all that. Every single classroom has a view of the cranes and in every class every boy has their head turned towards the window, dumbstruck. They cannot tear their eyes away from the cranes. The hoisting and pivoting. They all gasp with terror and exhiliration as bundles
of scaffolding swing to within inches of the glass. I reckon I could spontaneously combust or spontaneouly stand on a desk and take my shirt off or and it wouldnt register; they just love to watch the cranes. Its not just the students either - the male teachers are equally mesmerised; physically in the classrooms dummying through teaching until the bell when they can rush out with the boys and get as close as dammit to the action. The crashing and grinding of cogs and billowing clouds of construction dust do not dissuade indoors. Far from it, they seem to be considered added bonuses.

I am trying to work out what causes the joy in boys who watch machines. Is it the machinery? What about the machinery exactly? Is it the kinetics? It is the horrible metal noises? Maybe it is that construction vehicles with their size and power are today's dinosaurs, simultaneously horrifying and exciting.

I watched for a little bit this morning. It was fun yes, but my admiration lacked focus. Sometimes I was thinking about dinosaurs, sometimes noticing the light and sometimes how impossibly clean the machines were. I also noticed the style of the construction workers' uniforms: they wear loose green pants that taper into four button cuffs mid-calf and ninja boots with the big toe separated from the others. so beautiful. I covet them.

After ten minutes I had seen as much as I wanted and I went inside to read. I had tried, but I couldnt fool myself into the frenzy, the endless fascination being experienced by the boy people.