Long ago, in a land called Kettering, OH, my 14-year-old self got bored, restless and discontent, but this was no ordinary case of adolescent ennui. I was jealous, longing, consumed by the desire to do one thing above all else. It was a crazy notion, they told me it would never happen, that it Just. Wasn't. Right. 

I tried to put it out of my thoughts. Well, not really. The fantasy played over and over in my tortured mind:  We would meet on a bright Wednesday morning in September. As I finished braiding my silky, amber tresses, he would briskly enter the room as always, but today there was a little catch in his step. He saw me. Our eyes met. only for the briefest moment, but the connection was made. Placing his books and supplies on the desk, he turned back, holding a single piece of paper on a battered clipboard.  Then, he did it--he said my name.

"Take your seats, let's get started. Anderson? (here) Barnard? (here) Bates? (here) Baxter? (here! Oh yes oh yes oh yes I am here!!!)...Williams? (here) Yancy? (here). Welcome to Metals Shop.  This week we're going over shop safety and equipment. We'll start our first project on Monday."

YES!!!!!

It wasn't an easy road to shop class for me with my training bra and ovaries which mandated Home Ec class, and the dreaded Typing and Secretarial Skills.  I had asked nicely, "May I please sign up for Shop Class next fall?", written a letter to the principal, asked loudly, debated, argued and had the occasional temper tantrum all without success. So I got serious.

Principal: "Miss Baxter, your teacher sent you here because you refused to do the assigned project today in Home Economics Class. What was that project?" 

Me:  "Butterscotch Biscuit Blossoms. Made with canned biscuits. Bleh."

"I see, but that's not what you did, is it? You must already know everything there is to know about cooking nutritious meals for a family. Tell me, what was it that you felt was more important than Butterscotch Biscuit Blossoms?"

"Braised veau en croute with shallot and tarragon infused cream sauce accompanied by a delicate chiffonade of fresh spring greens lightly dressed in champaigne vinaigrette, sir. I didn't have time to finish the mousse au chocolat.  Here, I brought you some for lunch--it sure beats another ham and cheez on wonder bread with a side of greasy chips. Enjoy!"

(WIN) (My grandmother raised me while mom was at work. She taught me everything.)

Typing class was easier. We were required to wear a skirt to class. Me and my Levi elephant bell bottoms got kicked out for 2 weeks straight, after which I bypassed class and went straight to the principal's office every day at 1:00pm sharp. Every single day.  Day after day after day.......

Me:  "Hi, Mr. Staton!"

Him:  "Oh. Yeah."

"Are you going to call my mom again?" She really likes talking to you, says you're very concise and articulate, and she's so happy that you support women's liberation and opening the doors of opportunity to the Women of Tomorrow!!"

"No. I'm not calling your mother today."

"Oh. Why not?"

"Because......because I've had enough. I give. You win. You want shop class? Well, missy, you've got it. Woods, metals and drafting, have at it, knock yourself out, just get out of my office. I've changed your typing class to study hall. Happy?" 

"Oh, yes, thank you Mr. Staton! And I know just where to start--Automotives!! I've always wanted to rebuild a carburetor and it's..."

"NO AUTOMOTIVES! NOW GET OUT AND STAY OUT!"

And that is the slightly embellished story of how I got to be the first girl in the Kettering School District to take shop classes.

My 14-year-old daughter doesn't have to worry about being excluded from shop class. Neither do her friends, male or female.; it no longer exists. I shouldn't be shocked. There are power tools, toxic chemicals, blazing hot soldering irons.  All sorts and brands of horrible injuries could come about in such a dangerous place.

The kids here aren't allowed to have a ball on the playground because somebody might get hurt. A table saw? Never!

Now they have Life Skills and Personal Finance classes for all. They learn to boil an egg, sew on a button and count their change at the grocery store. They don't get their hands dirty. They don't get to work through a project from start to finish, to solve problems and correct mistakes in creative ways. They don't get the sense of pride that comes from starting with a board and ending up with something... better. Something that shows all their efforts, good and not so good.  Something that is real and tangible and will be around for a long time.

"I made that!"

Thank goodness there are still the makers, tinkerers, inventers, gardeners, fixers. Thank goodness there are still curious, ambitious children who want to know how things work, who want to put down the game controller, get their hands dirty, make some noise, and come up with something...better.  They'll figure out how to make enough food to avoid starvation. They'll overdraw their bank account enough times to come up with a better way to keep tabs on it. And they'll understand the world, how it works, how to make things right, how to think through problems and put solutions into place.

When things get tough, and I think we all sense that leaner times are coming, the maker, tinkerers, inventers, gardeners, fixers, and their children, will do just fine.

RIP, Shop Class. You may be gone, but you are not forgotten!