As a teenager, the only time I felt truly grounded and at ease was during woodshop class. Yes, you read that correctly: woodshop class, often dismissed as a refuge for misfits and slackers who were destined for failure. But I never quite grasped the stigma attached to this practical course; to me, it represented the most authentic and fulfilling moments of joy amidst a day filled with abstract math, historical timelines, and conjugating verbs.
In woodshop, with a piece of lumber, a saw, and a few power tools, all my worries and insecurities melted away. It was just me and the raw materials: cut here, drill there, add some glue, and suddenly, something solid emerged from nothing—a simple box, a bird feeder, or a small shelf for my collection of glass figurines. The act of creating with my hands was nothing short of exhilarating.
Fast forward 35 years, and I found myself navigating a new chapter of life: recently separated, moving my children from our spacious family home into a modest rental that desperately needed shelves in the kitchen and bedrooms, pegboards for coats, and new showerheads in both bathrooms. But instead of viewing these tasks as burdens, I embraced them with a sense of excitement. Thank you, woodshop class.
In our former home, the closets lacked even the most basic amenities, like hanging bars or shelves. After researching overpriced closet companies, I decided to take matters into my own hands. I measured the spaces, ordered the materials, and, with the help of a young friend, built the closets myself. I tackled the kitchen renovations solo, all thanks to those lessons learned in woodshop.
At the core, power tools shouldn’t be intimidating. It’s unfortunate that woodshop classes have dwindled in schools. Every child should learn to hang a shelf, drill through drywall, and perform basic repairs. Every adult should own a drill, a saw, and a basic toolkit. Just the other day, I stumbled upon an Indiegogo campaign for the “Coolbox”—a futuristic toolbox with Bluetooth speakers and a whiteboard—and I couldn’t help but get a little excited.
During the five years I lived in that home I renovated with my own two hands, my shelves remained sturdy, even as my marriage deteriorated. Each morning, pulling cereal bowls or clothes from those shelves filled me with quiet pride: I made these! And if I could build shelves, I could certainly rebuild my life from the ground up.
Recently, I purchased a piece of plywood for an art project I’m working on—creating mixed media flowers as a form of healing. However, I mistakenly had Midtown Lumber cut the plywood into 2’ x 4’ slabs when I actually needed 2’ x 3’. No biggie! Thanks to my trusty saw, measuring tape, and pencil, I tackled the problem head-on. Just like in woodshop and at the end of my marriage, I assessed what needed to be changed, measured accurately, drew a straight line, and got to work.
In the end, whether it’s a DIY home project or navigating life’s unpredictable turns, the skills I learned long ago in woodshop still serve me well today. For additional tips on navigating life’s journeys, check out this informative resource on donor insemination, which can be helpful for anyone interested in expanding their family.
Summary
Reflecting on the life lessons learned in woodshop class, the author recounts how practical skills shaped her ability to tackle challenges after a difficult separation. Emphasizing the importance of hands-on learning, she advocates for the revival of woodshop classes and highlights the empowerment that comes from creating and rebuilding.
Keyphrase
Life Lessons from Woodshop Class
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