The airplane snapped in half just as the job interview began.
A thin crack, then a sharp plastic pop—one second, Caleb’s favorite model plane was swooping low over the living room carpet; the next, its tiny wings lay in two separate pieces on the hardwood floor of a small American house in a small American suburb, somewhere between a strip mall and a freeway.
“Dad!” Caleb shouted. “My plane!”
Down the hall, in the master bedroom that had been turned into a makeshift office, Richard Carter flinched at the sound. He was already sweating through his old work shirt, the one that still smelled faintly of machine oil and metal. His laptop, perched on a stack of cardboard boxes masquerading as a desk, showed his own nervous face in the corner of the screen and a man in a blazer waiting patiently on the other side of a glitchy video call.
“So, Richard,” the interviewer said, “tell me about your experience with our software. How comfortable are you with remote collaboration tools?”
Remote collaboration tools. Whatever that meant.
“Uh—yes, sir,” Richard started, licking his dry lips. “Well, I wouldn’t say I’m too familiar with that specific program, but I’m a really quick learner and—”
“Dad!” Caleb yelled again, closer this time. “Dad, my train’s broken!”
Richard’s eye twitched. Of course. The plane, the train—if it had wheels or wings, his kid would find a way to crash it.
“I am so sorry,” Richard blurted into the laptop. “My son—”
“That’s okay,” the interviewer said, amused. “I have little ones of my own. Believe me, I understand.”
Caleb burst into the room, wide-eyed, holding a wooden locomotive with a snapped-off front. “Dad, please, Aaron’s coming over. You have to fix it before he gets here.”
Richard clamped a hand over the laptop camera without thinking, as if that could magically mute the chaos.
“Caleb,” he hissed. “What are you doing in here? I’m in an interview. You’re embarrassing me.”
“Um, Richard?” the interviewer’s voice floated through. “Covering the camera with your hand doesn’t mute the microphone.”
Richard closed his eyes. “Right. Of course. I’m… I’m really sorry.”
“That’s okay,” the man said kindly. “That’s all the questions I had, anyway. I think we can wrap it up from here.”
“Already?” Richard said. “Are you sure? I can—”
“Yes, sir,” the interviewer said. “I have everything I need. We’ll keep in touch.”
The screen went dark.
Richard stared at his own reflection in the now-blank monitor, hand still pressed over the camera as if he could hide from himself.
“Thanks a lot, son,” he muttered, dropping his hand. “You may have just ruined that interview for me.”
“I’m sorry, Dad,” Caleb said, looking stricken. The boy’s dark hair fell into his eyes, and he pushed it back with the same nervous gesture Richard’s father used to do.
Richard sighed. The anger faded as quickly as it arrived, leaving behind that familiar hollow ache in his chest.
“It’s okay,” he said, softer. “I’m just going to have to lock the door when I’m doing interviews from now on.”
“I can show you where the mute button is,” Caleb offered. “On Zoom. Or whatever that was. I know how all this stuff works.”
“You do?” Richard asked.
“Of course,” Caleb said. “I know a lot about computers. I just don’t know how to fix things. That’s your job. So can you please figure out what’s wrong with my train?”
Richard picked up the broken locomotive. The front end was hanging on by a splinter, the paint scraped off one side from a fall down the stairs.
“How’d you break this thing, anyway?” he asked.
“I was walking downstairs, and I dropped it,” Caleb admitted. “I didn’t mean to. It’s just… my favorite.”
Richard turned the toy in his hands, thumb brushing the grain of the wood. His own father’s voice rose up from the past, telling him where to sand, where to saw, where to glue.
“Looks like it needs a toy emergency,” he said. “All right. I’ve got just the thing for it.”
Caleb’s face lit up. “Thanks! You’re the best, Dad.”
Richard’s throat tightened. The best? Most days he didn’t even feel like “adequate.”
“But you can’t use that if you’re going to fix it,” Caleb said, pointing to the laptop.
“No,” Richard said, closing the screen. “I’ve got something else planned for you. You’ll see.”
Three days earlier, none of this had seemed possible.
Three days earlier, Richard had still had a job.
That morning, he’d sat in a gray break room in a gray factory off a gray stretch of highway, sipping burned coffee from a chipped mug. The sound of machines hummed through the walls—presses and cutters, stamping out parts for other machines all over the country.
“Hey, Maria,” he’d said into his cellphone, hunched over the small metal table. “I’m really busy right now. What’s up?”
On the other end, in their modest American kitchen with the magnets on the fridge and the pile of school notices on the counter, his wife sighed.
“I was just wondering what time you’re going to be done with work,” Maria said. “Caleb got all As on his report card, and I thought it would be fun to go out and celebrate.”
“Well, I didn’t know they gave report cards to fifth graders,” Richard joked.
“He’s in sixth grade, Richard,” Maria said. “He just started middle school.”
Right. Sixth. Time moved faster than the machines in this place.
“Okay, well, I don’t know,” he said. “Probably get done around eleven. Midnight at the latest.”
“Midnight?” Maria asked. “Do you plan on spending any time at home this week?”
He pinched the bridge of his nose. “Maria, it’s been crazy around here. Four people just got laid off.”
“Oh my goodness,” she whispered. “I’m really starting to get worried.”
“No, it’s going to be fine,” he said. “They’re not going to get rid of somebody like me.”
He believed it when he said it.
He didn’t believe it when his supervisor called him into the hallway that afternoon.
By the time he walked through their front door that night—early for once, the sun still hanging low in the California sky—Caleb was sprawled on the living room floor with his backpack open, papers scattered around like confetti. Maria was stirring something on the stove, the TV murmuring in the background.
“You’re home early,” she said, surprised.
“Yeah,” he said. “Well. Not by choice.”
She froze, spoon hovering over the pot.
“What does that mean?” she asked.
“They, uh… let me go,” he said.
The words felt foreign in his mouth, too soft for the blow they carried.
“They can’t do that,” Maria said immediately. “You’ve worked for that company for over twenty years.”
“Well, they did,” he said. “And they shut the whole factory down. I don’t know what we’re going to do.”
Caleb stepped into the doorway, clutching his report card. “Dad, look,” he said. “I got all As.”
Richard stared at the paper and saw none of the letters. His brain was still crowded with pink slips and severance packages.
“Wow,” he said vaguely. “Great job, bud.”
He pulled Caleb into a hug anyway. The boy smiled against his chest, unaware of the storm swirling over their heads.
“We’re going to be fine,” Maria said firmly, coming over to wrap her arms around both of them. “We’re going to figure something out. We’ve got some money in savings, and I can pick up extra shifts at the salon.”
“Yeah? And who’s going to watch Caleb?” Richard asked.
“You can,” she said. “You’re going to be home.”
Caleb’s face brightened. “That would be awesome.”
“I can’t watch the boy,” Richard said. “I’ll be out looking for jobs.”
“All of that is done at home now,” Maria pointed out. “Most interviews are online. Applications, everything.”
“I can’t do that kind of stuff,” he said. “I don’t know how the online thing works. The last time I went on an interview, I don’t even think they had computers.”
“Well,” Maria said, “now that you’re going to be home more often, maybe you could learn.”
He shook his head. “Just the thought of looking for a job is stressing me out.”
She cupped his face in her hands, forcing him to look at her. “What if you didn’t have to interview?” she asked. “What if you started your own business? Come on. We talked about it when we were first married. You hated that factory. Maybe this is your chance.”
“I can’t start a business,” he scoffed. “What would I sell?”
“I don’t know,” she said. “You can make anything with your hands. You could build something and sell it. Furniture, birdhouses, whatever. People on the internet buy everything.”
“Times have changed, Maria,” he said quietly. “Everything’s run by machines now. All the factories are automated. They need people who understand technology. I need a new career. A new job.”
“And you’ll find one,” she said. “Hey. I have faith in you. Like my mom always says, when things feel like they’re falling apart, they may actually be falling into place.”
Richard had snorted at that.
Now, watching his son carefully cradle a broken wooden engine, he wasn’t so sure it was just something people said to make themselves feel better.
In the garage, the air smelled like sawdust and old paint.
Richard flicked on the bare bulb overhead and surveyed the space—plastic bins of screws, an old workbench, a jumble of wood scraps stacked against the wall. His father’s old toolbox sat right where he’d left it years ago.
“All right,” he muttered to the train, setting it on the bench. “What’ve we got here?”
He turned it over, examining the crack. “There it is,” he said. “First thing we have to do is smooth out the edges.”
He plugged in his sander. The machine buzzed to life, dust swirling in the beam of the overhead light. For a few minutes, the noise drowned out the anxiety buzzing in his own head.
When the edges were clean, he reached for the glue. “Now,” he said, as Caleb watched from a stool beside him, “we put a little wood glue on here. Just a tiny bit. Not too much. Right along the seam. You got it? Hold it like that.”
Caleb held the pieces together with steady hands, tongue stuck out in concentration.
Richard smiled. “That’s it. We’ll wait till it dries, then you can play with it again.”
“Where’d you learn to fix things?” Caleb asked.
“When I was a kid,” Richard said, “I had toys just like this. I’d break them, and my dad would fix them. I’d stand right where you are, watching him. After a while, he let me help.”
“Now you fix my toys,” Caleb said.
“Yeah,” Richard said quietly. “Now I fix yours.”
He didn’t mention that toys were a whole lot easier to fix than the rest of his life.
The next day, Caleb’s friend Aaron came over. The two boys barreled through the house like miniature storms, voices echoing down the hallway.
“Got you!” Caleb shouted.
“Not a chance!” Aaron laughed. “Let’s play something else.”
“Okay,” Caleb said. “Like what?”
“Look what I’ve got,” Caleb said, puffing out his chest as he carried the repaired train into the living room. The side had been sanded smooth and painted carefully, his name written on it in neat black letters: CALEB.
“Whoa,” Aaron said. “A train with your name on it. That’s so cool. Where’d you buy that?”
“My dad made it,” Caleb said proudly. “He can make anything.”
“Really?” Aaron asked, eyes wide. “Do you think he could make me one too? With my name?”
“I don’t know,” Caleb said. “He doesn’t have a lot of time. He’s always doing computer stuff now. But maybe you can ask your dad.”
“My dad’s an accountant,” Aaron groaned. “There’s no way he’d be able to make something like this. But I really want one.”
“Dad!” Caleb called. “Can you come here?”
Richard stepped out of the bedroom, rubbing his eyes. Another online application had just asked him to list all the software he’d ever used. He’d typed: “Microsoft Word. Sort of.”
“What’s up, buddy?”
“Can you make Aaron a train too?” Caleb asked. “With his name on it?”
Richard looked at the boy’s hopeful face, then at Aaron’s.
“I don’t know, guys,” he said. “I’m not a toy builder. Plus, I’ve got another interview… right now, actually. I’ll see what I can do later. You two go play.”
“Don’t worry,” Caleb whispered to Aaron as Richard walked away. “I’ll get him to do it.”
“For real?” Aaron whispered back. “Thanks, man.”
That evening, Richard stood at the sink, rinsing plates, while Maria scrolled through something on her phone.
“So,” she asked, “how’s the job search coming?”
“Not good,” he said. “Everything’s asking for experience with software. Cloud systems. Spreadsheet programs. I can build a house from scratch, but if you ask me to make a spreadsheet…” He shook his head. “Forget it.”
“Is that stuff you can learn?” she asked.
“I don’t know,” he said. “Maybe. But I feel like I’m thirty years behind everybody else.”
“What if,” she said carefully, “we stop trying to shove you into something you hate—and we look at what you’re actually good at?”
“What do you mean?”
Before she could answer, the doorbell rang.
“Oh,” she said. “That must be Dale and Aaron. We’re taking them out for Father’s Day, remember?”
Richard dried his hands and went to open the door. His friend Dale stood on the porch, son in tow. The late afternoon sun painted the sidewalk golden, American flags fluttering from a few porches up and down the street. Somewhere, a neighbor’s grill sizzled, the smell of barbecue drifted over.
“Hey, guys,” Richard said. “Come on in.”
“Hey,” Dale said, stepping inside. “We’re taking Richard here out to celebrate Father’s Day. Man deserves a steak.”
“That’s nice,” Maria said, coming out of the kitchen. “We’re going out tonight too. Aaron can’t stop talking about that train you made him. Thank you for doing that.”
“No problem,” Richard said.
“Wait,” Caleb said. “You made Aaron a train?”
“Yeah,” Aaron said, grinning. “Like the one with your name on it. And my dad said he’s going to make me one with rockets and a helicopter on it next.”
“No way,” Caleb said.
Dale laughed. “Hey, he’s pretty impressed,” he told Richard. “And so am I.”
“It was nothing,” Richard said, embarrassed.
“It wasn’t nothing for the kids,” Dale said. “In fact, I was going to ask you… Ever since you made that train, my youngest, Miles, keeps begging me for one. Would you be willing to make another?”
“I don’t know, man,” Richard said. “I’m really busy with the job hunt.”
“If it makes any difference,” Dale said, “I’d be willing to pay you. Two hundred dollars. Make it worth your while.”
Richard blinked. “Two hundred dollars? For a toy train?”
“You’d be doing me a favor,” Dale said. “Miles’ birthday’s next week, and I have no idea what to get him. Kids have everything these days. But they don’t have something like that. If you change your mind, let me know. Okay?”
“Yeah,” Richard said slowly. “For sure.”
After they left, Maria turned to him, eyebrows raised.
“What?” Richard asked.
“If that’s not destiny slapping you in the face,” she said, “I don’t know what is.”
He snorted. “What are you talking about?”
“You love working with your hands,” she said. “You built that first train just to make Caleb happy. It made Aaron happy, too. Now someone wants to pay you for it. Why not make toys?”
“I’m a grown man,” he said. “I’m not a toy maker.”
“That’s not a reason not to become one,” she said. “I know the kinds of toys kids like. I work at a salon full of moms who talk about their kids all day. I could help. Caleb could help. You already have your first customer.”
“I don’t have the time,” he protested.
“You’re unemployed,” she reminded him. “You are literally at home all day.”
He opened his mouth, then shut it.
“How many hours did it take to build Aaron’s train?” she asked.
“I don’t know,” he said. “Two? Maybe.”
“And how much did the materials cost?”
“Not much,” he admitted. “Scrap wood. A little paint. Glue.”
“Dale just offered you two hundred dollars for one,” Maria said. “That’s a hundred dollars an hour. Your last job paid twenty-eight. You’d be better off. And that’s just one train. Caleb says half the kids at school want one now. The demand is there.”
“I can’t live off one train,” he said.
“Then make more,” she said. “We’re not going to be able to keep up with bills on just my salary. And like you said, all the jobs you’re applying for want skills you don’t have—yet. What do you have to lose by trying this? You can still apply for jobs while we test the waters.”
“Please, Dad,” Caleb said, stepping closer. “We could do it together.”
Richard looked at his son. At his wife. At his own rough hands.
“Fine,” he said at last. “I’ll see what I can do.”
Caleb whooped. “Yes! After you finish Aaron’s new train, can you make me a new airplane? With weapons on it? And maybe a robot? And something for girls, too. Like a dollhouse with a spaceship on top.”
“Sure,” Richard said, laughing despite himself. “One thing at a time, buddy.”
The next morning, the garage became a factory.
Not the kind with humming machines and fluorescent lights, but the kind that smelled like pine and paint and a little bit of hope. Caleb sat at the workbench, legs swinging, sketching out wild designs in a notebook—trains with rocket boosters, helicopters with hidden compartments, dollhouses that turned into castles with the push of a button.
Richard measured and sawed, sanded and glued. He attached tiny wheels, painted tiny names: AARON. MILES. CALEB. Sometimes he let his son hold the pieces together while the glue dried, teaching him the same way his father had once taught him.
In the evenings, Maria cleared off the dining table and set up her laptop. While Richard worked in the garage, she built a storefront on a website she’d heard about from a client at the salon—Etsy. She took photos of each toy in the good light near the window, listing them with names like “Custom Name Train” and “Handmade Airplane with Stand.”
When she clicked “publish,” she held her breath.
Weeks earlier, she’d done the same thing with their bank account, watching the balance dip lower.
This time, the numbers started going up.
At first, the orders trickled in slowly. “Just saw this on Instagram—so cute!” one message read. “My son’s name is Jonah. Can you do blue and green?” Another: “My niece loves trains and helicopters. Can you combine them?”
Then KIDTOYUSA, a parenting blog somewhere in the Midwest, reposted one of their photos with the caption: “Look at this small family business in California making personalized wooden toys!”
Orders exploded.
They shipped trains to Texas, planes to New York, dollhouses to Florida. They learned the names of children all over the United States: Emmett, Sophia, Jalen, Luna. Each name was carefully lettered by hand on a piece of wood in a garage in a quiet American neighborhood, then wrapped in brown paper and sent across the country.
After a while, the garage wasn’t enough.
They rented a small shop space in an industrial park fifteen minutes away, with high ceilings and room for more workbenches. Richard hired two part-time workers from his old factory, guys who knew their way around a saw and were grateful to be making something that would make kids smile.
Maria left the salon, working from home to manage the online store full-time. She answered messages, posted photos, learned more about algorithms and tags than she ever wanted to know. Caleb, in between school and homework, tested every prototype. If it could survive his imagination, it could survive any child in America.
The company they jokingly named Carter Creations LLC made its first hundred sales.
Then its first thousand.
Then its first hundred thousand dollars in revenue.
A year after Richard had come home early with worry lines carved into his forehead, he sat at the same dinner table with his family. But this time there were candles. A cake. And presents that didn’t come from a clearance rack.
“Well,” Maria said, pouring sparkling cider into three mismatched glasses. “I don’t know what’s a bigger reason to celebrate: Father’s Day, or the one-year anniversary of your company.”
“Our company,” Richard corrected. “This was a team effort. I couldn’t have done any of this without you two.”
“Yeah,” Caleb said. “You’d still be trying to figure out where the mute button is.”
Richard chuckled. “True.”
“And I’d still be on my feet at the salon twelve hours a day,” Maria said. “Now I get to work from home and set my own schedule. So yes, I’m pretty glad it worked out.”
“Me too,” Caleb said. “I get to have dinner with Dad every night. Plus, I get new toys all the time. Everyone at school wants to trade with me.” He reached under the table. “Here. This one’s from me.”
Richard opened the small box and pulled out a wooden saw, no bigger than his hand, carved carefully and polished smooth. On the side, in careful letters, Caleb had written: “Best Dad I Ever Saw.”
Richard’s vision blurred for a moment. “This is fantastic, buddy,” he said. “Did one of the guys at the shop make it?”
“Nope,” Caleb said, grinning. “We had someone else make it. The only person I know who’s better with their hands than you.”
“Who’s that?” Richard asked.
“The person that taught you everything,” Maria said, standing.
The front door opened.
“Grandpa!” Caleb shouted.
Richard stood up so fast his chair scraped the floor. His father stood in the doorway, older, a little stooped, but with the same steady hands and sharp eyes Richard remembered.
“Dad?” Richard said. “When did you get here?”
“This morning,” his father said, smiling. “Maria’s been planning this for a while. She flew me in as a surprise.”
Richard hugged him hard. “This is the greatest Father’s Day gift ever,” he said. “Thank you.”
“I’m really proud of you, son,” his father said. “It’s unbelievable how far this company has come in a year. It wasn’t long ago I was worried sick when you lost your job. Who would’ve figured that’d turn out to be a blessing?”
“Yeah,” Richard said. “I guess it’s true what they say. When things are falling apart, they might actually be falling into place.”
“Amen to that,” Maria said. “And we just crossed a million dollars in sales.”
“Whoa,” Caleb said. “We’re… millionaires?”
“Not exactly,” Richard laughed. “We’ve still got bills. Employees. Rent. But the business is doing well.”
“How does it feel,” his father asked, “to be running your own company and making all that money?”
“The money is great,” Richard said honestly. “But it’s probably the second best thing about this business.”
“Oh yeah?” Maria teased. “What’s the first?”
“Getting to spend more time with my family,” he said.
Maria leaned in and kissed him. Caleb made a face and then scooted closer to hug them both anyway.
“We love you so much,” Maria said. “Happy Father’s Day.”
“Happy Father’s Day,” Richard said, looking at his dad. “To you, too. And… thank you. For everything you taught me.”
“Well,” his father said, looking around the room at the people, the toys, the future. “The apple doesn’t fall far from the tree. But who knows? I might just move out here and go to work for you full-time. Then it’ll be a real family affair.”
“Yes!” Caleb shouted. “Please do that, Grandpa.”
“I actually think it’s a good idea,” Maria said. “We’d love to see you more.”
“And I’m sure there’s a couple things you can still teach me,” Richard added.
His father chuckled. “Well, I don’t know,” he said. “The price of houses around here is no joke.”
“That’s true,” Richard said. “But it doesn’t mean we can’t build something.”
“Could you guys really build a house from scratch?” Caleb asked, eyes wide.
“Come on,” Richard’s father said. “There’s nothing your father and I couldn’t do.”
“True,” Richard said. “Except… put a spreadsheet together. That’s still a mystery.”
“That’s something these two will be great at,” Maria said, nodding at Caleb. “They’re better with computers than any of us.”
“Yeah,” Caleb said. “We’ve got that part. You guys handle the saws.”
Outside, in the quiet American neighborhood, another delivery truck pulled up, dropping off a stack of raw lumber for the next batch of orders. Somewhere, a kid in another state was tearing open a brown paper package, eyes lighting up at the sight of their name painted on a wooden train.
In a world where factories closed and careers vanished and “remote collaboration tools” could decide your future, a man who thought he was finished had started again—with his hands, his family, and a small wooden toy.
Sometimes, when things fall apart in the middle of a Zoom call, they really are just falling into place.
