I suppose everyone has a traumatic experience where something they were involved in ended in a dishearten way.
As a child we moved often, and the goodbyes to friends were hard to bear.
Wearing out or growing out of a favorite article of clothes, and having to give it up could be pure pain.
A pet going to pet heaven, would cause the tears to flow.
When you have grown up, your list is almost endless, and we all have them written in our memory banks.
Very high on my list was something that happened to me while I was in junior high school. I had taken metal shop, but wasn't especially interested in it.
This semester I was going to take wood shop. I had looked forward to this for a long time, and was very excited because there were so many different machines to work on.
The saws were very intimidating, especially after the teacher told some stories about some kids getting their fingers cut off.
Before we could touch any tools we had to study, and pass the safety tests. Our teacher explained to us that following these rules, would keep us safe from injury, and we were all for that.
It seemed like it was several weeks before I finally passed all the tests, and could at last work with wood. We had to pick out which project we wanted to make, and then design a plan on paper for it. Then it had to be approved by the instructor.
Some kids had projects that were more involved like a desk, but I decided to make a bowl. I glued up several kinds of wood, and eventually got it ready for the lathe. There was a long line ahead of me, and since I wasn't allowed to work on more than one project at a time, I would come to class and watch the other projects go forth. In the end I got my turn, and in about week I took the finished bowl home.
My second project was to be a lamp. I made a drawing, got it approved and began to construct it. It took me some time to make this lamp. I made the separate parts, and finally put them together. It was ready for the final inspection, and my grade was based upon my bowl and the lamp.
I got the instructors attention, and proudly showed him the finished lamp.
What took place next happened so fast, I didn't realized what he had done! He looked at my beautiful lamp for about five seconds, and then grabbing a hammer, he smashed it into tiny pieces.
I just stood there shocked, not making a sound, and after what seemed like an eternity he said; “Now start over, and do it right!”
All the other classmates who were looking at me didn't help at all.
There was only a few days left in the school year, and actually no time to start over.
I don't know if I was hurt, humiliated or devastated, I think a bit of all, and it almost broke my heart.
Twelve year olds can be a little sensitive at that age. All I could see was the lamp broken into pieces.
It wasn't the size of my dream, but the failure for it to come to pass, that hurt.
While I couldn't forget, I could move on and so I did!
This post is shared at: Tell Me a Story