When you were five, it seemed that Christmas only came once every five years. The anticipation was unbearable. And adults didn't help matters much when they asked what you wanted for Christmas. At age five, the answer was EVERYTHING!

One of the first toys I actually re-member, without having to look at dad's obligatory photos of all of the gifts arranged under the tree, was a large yellow road grader. It was maybe three feet long, entirely made of sheet metal, and had wheels you could actually steer. It also had a large shiny blade that could take out eight or ten inches of carpet with a single whack if you really tried hard enough. This effort resulted in the road grader being banned to the sandbox in the backyard after the winter snow melted.

That was more than 50 years ago.

This morning, I spent nearly an hour, with my coffee cup in hand, watching a big, yellow, steel road grader adjusting the land about half a block from my home. They are going to build a small medical building there, I'm told. It was fascinating to watch, and, after I went in to dress for work, I asked myself why I had just spent an hour watching a big yellow machine move dirt. Of course, it's always fun to watch someone else work, but there was more to it.

The man driving the grader was building something, something real and lasting. He knew exactly what he was doing and what was expected of him. At the end of the day, stepping down from his exalted perch atop the big machine, he could look around and see the tangible results of his efforts.

Isn't that what we all want, really?

I think we are all builders at heart. As Masons, isn't that the core of our symbols and beliefs? We are building better men as we strive to better fit our hearts as building blocks for a house not made with human hands. At the end of the day, with the sun setting in the West, I think we all want to be able to look back with pride at what we have built.

A few months ago, my father, Bro. Bill Boyer, 32°, passed away. In the final days of his life, he looked back over nearly 91 years at the things he had built. No great buildings, or even small ones, for that matter. He had, however, built a good life for his wife and three children, complete with a set of values surrounding a core of self-confidence. It was no small accomplishment, and he was satisfied.

Of course, we all build in different ways. Some, like the man driving the grader, actually build the structures and highways we need in our lives. Others build in intangible but very real ways, shaping our lives in other directions. Some build relationships, organizations, and companies. Teachers, for example, are building with some of the most valuable resources we have-our children.

I, as do the other Masonic Brothers whose work appears here, build with words. I know that words have weight, cadence, color, tone, and feeling. Of course, it takes care to build with words. Words can build or tear down. They can be dangerous.

I'm wondering now, however, if what I build will have the staying power of that little medical building going up down the street from my home. And I wonder, as I look back and the sun sets in my life, if what I've built will stand my father's stern measure of accomplishment.

I'm also wondering what I want for Christmas. There is irony here. The question now comes from my children: "What do you want for Christmas, Dad?"

So I'll tell you. What I want, Kit and Melanie, is for you to build your lives in such a way that I can look back with pride at your accomplishments, knowing that I, as a Master Mason, helped lay the foundation of your lives.

That will be even better than having my own yellow road grader.

William H. "Skip" Boyer writes from the Valley of Phoenix, where he is the executive producer and senior writer for Best Western International. He is a fifth generation Master Mason and Past Master of Paradise Valley Silver Trowel No. 29, F.&A.M.. You can reach him at Skip. Boyer@bestwestern.com.