9
teachers engaged in technology shop classes. One shot zeroed in on my mouth, one jaw cheek bulging with upholstery tacks. I smiled wickedly directly at the camera as my tongue adroitly hoisted a tiny tack up to a classic tack hammer, which magnetically grabbed it. That summer, several female content area colleagues and I had fashioned mushroom stools, simple hassocks that required our using a band saw and a foam cutter. And I’d felt relaxed with those big power tools! Granted, they did not require the finesse necessary for wiring a light. The previous summer, I had noted fragile beauty as I threaded the black, white, and green wires, while creating a mushroom stool had seemed easy – until I began the project. At the end-of-year Vo-Tech brunch, I considered an interesting fact. Until a few years earlier, I had never owned any hand tools, other than writing utensils. Visiting my parents one late fall weekend, I complained about my cold classroom. The temperature, I assured my parents, remained under 65 degrees every day, all day. Despite wearing sweaters and sweatshirts, my students and I had begun turning numerous shades of blue and purple. My mother asked if I could regulate the heating and air conditioning, modern conveniences we school inhabitants had yearned for over the twenty years I had taught in the high school. “No! Isn’t it stupid? I mean, they want to save money, but they crank the thermostat down SO low we’re all human popsicles!” My parents chuckled. My father, suddenly embarking on an unknown mission, stepped out of the room, wandered downstairs and crept out the back door. “What’s he up to?” My mother, prepared to serve dinner shortly, suggested I “wash up while he’s puttering.” “Sure.” I disappeared. When I emerged into the living room, my father had returned. “Here, use this to turn up the temperature.” He handed me a mini screwdriver. “What is it?” I imagined electrocution as I inserted metal into a wall niche back in my classroom.