I recall an assignment in middle school where each of us was required to build an animal home, such as a birdhouse, using wood. There was a woodworking area just off of our science room, and we were tasked with designing the home and then completing the project during the allotted time in class.
My Grandpa created beautiful wooden pieces in his basement workshop. He was a skilled craftsman and I cherished then, and I cherish all the more now, the wooden items he made for me. He volunteered to assist my class in cutting and piecing their animal homes together.
I was elated to have my Grandpa in school but I never started my squirrel house. Something about walking through that door to the workshop was daunting and I could not convince myself to do it. Perhaps, it was flashbacks to the time I was hammering a nail into a piece of wood, slipped and hit the wrong nail. This had resulted in a fascinating array of colours beneath my fingernail, before it eventually fell off completely. It was such a significant event that my ten-year-old self had documented it, complete with illustrations, in my journal.
Whatever the catalyst behind my anxiety, I was unable to complete my project in class. I ended up working on my squirrel home one-on-one with my Grandpa in his home workshop instead. His workshop was well lit and smelled of wood, with a dusting of wood dust scattered across the floor. I couldn’t tell you how to build a squirrel home today, but I can tell you that I am immensely grateful for that memory.
Sure, I could have gotten a better grade if I had completed my project in class where the teacher could be sure I did the work myself. I also wish anxiety had not kept me from stepping up and getting involved so often. A less than ideal circumstance led to a memory I hold dearly, though. My Grandpa passed away when I was sixteen. I can no longer make memories with him, but I can look back and see the blessing that came out of a school project and a special time I got to spend with my Grandpa as a result of it.
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