It was truly a work of art!
Once my mother reached underneath the Christmas tree to open a neatly wrapped present from me, the animated expression on her face was worth a thousand words as she removed the totally unexpected gift from its box.
The dark-haired brunette proudly held up the wall-hanging wooden candlestick holder for our entire family to view, before she decided to place it on the wall in the foyer, where everyone would see it when they walked through the main entrance of our home.
Michelangelo may have had the iconic Sistine Chapel ceiling, but this mild-mannered seventh grader had an entire wall in the quaint entryway of our Cape Cod-style home.
Gone were the days of passing off construction paper projects or colored crayon drawings as tokens of appreciation for the woman who gave birth to me.
With nearly half a year of wood shop in the rearview mirror and metal shop in my not-too-distant future, I had moved up into the big leagues in the gift-giving department.
I was practically salivating over what fabricated metal project could potentially be waiting for her underneath the aptly decorated Douglas fir in our living room picture window next year.
However, I had my doubts there would even be anything for the tall, slender woman shrouded in holiday wrapping paper with an attached a gift tag from me amongst the lowest hanging branches when my wood shop teacher — Mr. Robert “Bob” Lewis — presented our class with the intricately designed template as the next graded assignment the Wednesday following an extended Thanksgiving weekend.
“Listen up, fellas,” announced the amiable gentleman with a handlebar mustache with considerable enthusiasm as he pointed to the replicas sitting on each of our workbenches throughout the spacious basement classroom. “Since many of you will most likely present this festive project to your mothers on Christmas morning, I need you to pay particular attention to all the detailed work; because this will also count as a quarter of your semester average.”
Let’s get to work!
“Jumping Jehoshaphat,” exclaimed Robert ‘Robbie’ Brough, his eyes as big as saucers after getting a firsthand look at all the detailed work on the reproduction. “Considering that there are only two wood shop classes left for this week, we will only have nine class periods to finish this project; because the last class will have a shortened schedule due to the half day of school.”
“Don’t get your panties in a bunch, Einstein,” quipped Robert “Mags” Magnifico with a hearty laugh while prying the mock-up design from his boon companion. “If you complete one segment of the project every day during class, you’ll finish it in plenty of time prior to Christmas break; but even if you don’t, you can always stain it in your garage.”
You both need to take a chill pill!
“Look who’s talking, Mister Jitterbug,” assessed Mags with a sideways grin upon handing me the scale model for a closer inspection. “After you told us how you jump out of your skin every time you hear a loud noise, I was fully expecting this class to turn into a first aid course; so, you should be thankful your fingers are still attached.”
Hardy har-har!
Over the course of the next three and a half weeks, this trio of close-knit friends — along with the rest of their fellow classmates — worked in a diligent and swift manner to complete the wall-hanging candlestick holder; and the looming deadline of the final shortened class period, scheduled for the week before Christmas Day, motivated them to stay focused and efficient.
Luckily for us, there were multiple woodworking tools — drill presses, jigsaws, vice grips and wood lathes—throughout the large room, which was filled with natural light from the numerous windows along the north and east-facing walls; otherwise, we would’ve been up a creek without a paddle, waiting in line to use one of the aforementioned machines.
Nevertheless, the pair of gridiron ballers and I were constantly getting into each other’s way, since we were stationed at the same workbench in the back corner of the industrial space.
What are you doing over here again?
“Didn’t you just finish using the jigsaw?” asked Robbie, breathing an exasperated sigh once he placed the plastic goggles over his black-rimmed spectacles. “If I don’t convert this square piece of scrap lumber into a circle as soon as possible, I’m not going to have enough time to attach it to the handle grip before the dismissal bell rings out.”
Excusez-moi!
“You have the patience of a cat waiting for a mouse,” I teased with a wide-eyed stare prior to stopping the mechanical instrument just long enough to explain myself. “Considering that I’m one step behind you, I need to finish cutting out the handle grip to attach it to the back panel; otherwise, I’ll be giving my mother a barrel of Lincoln Logs on the birthday of our Messiah.”
Keep it up, Mister Smarty-pants; and you’ll find yourself at the bottom of another dogpile at the end of the school day.
I’m shaking in my boots!
As the makeshift car race entered the final lap, the finish line — our last day of classes before winter break — came into view, and I still hadn’t stained the one-of-a-kind Christmas gift for my mother.
It was time to punch that throttle into hyperdrive!
Why haven’t you finished staining your project yet?
“I’ve got everything under control,” I promised with outstretched hands while giving a detailed explanation about my thought process. “With the 25-minute class period, I’ll have just enough time to put a quick coat of the oil-based stain on my wall-hanging candlestick holder; so, you guys got nothing to worry about.”
But how are you going to put that thing into your backpack if it’s still wet?
“Did you two knuckleheads forget already?” I queried with a scrunched-up nose before reminding them of our righteous after-school plans which were made the previous day. “Since youns are coming over my house to go sled riding after school, my dad’s picking us up in front of Hartman Elementary School at the end of the day; so, we can pick up my project here and then double back.”
“We haven’t stopped thinking about our little sled riding adventure since arriving at school this morning,” the two Robs emphatically stated in unison as these three musketeers linked arms to march up the long, narrow staircase after the dismissal bell sounded.
Maybe we can turn our sled riding party into a sleepover.
Now you’re speaking my language!
Mark S. Price is a former city government/county education reporter for The Sampson Independent. He currently resides in Clinton.