Wood Shop:

The Class That Changed My Life

“Don’t let anyone tell you your dreams are too big or impossible. You will never achieve your dreams if you listen to the people who tell you it can’t be done.”

From the first “standardized test” I ever took to my SATs, I struggled. I didn’t know it then, but I had ADHD and probably a touch of dyslexia. Back in the 1960s, there wasn’t much understanding of learning differences. You were simply labeled a poor reader and placed in what they called the “slow class”—often alongside kids with serious behavioral issues. As a shy boy with a strict father, I dreaded school and felt like I didn’t belong.

But then came wood shop.

Wood shop was the one place where I didn’t feel behind. There, I could see, touch, and build what I imagined. It wasn’t about reading comprehension or memorizing facts; it was about creativity, problem-solving, and hands-on learning. I realized I wasn’t “slow” at all—just wired differently.

Pop Pop, my father, was a mechanical engineer and draftsman who could make or fix anything. He taught me that if man made it, man can fix it. He expected precision and patience. “Watch me and anticipate what I need,” he’d say. Those lessons built more than skill—they built confidence.

By the time I reached high school, I had figured out how to play to my strengths. I took courses I enjoyed—Business Management, Mechanical Drawing, Metal Shop, and of course, Wood Shop. I wasn’t headed for a four-year college, but I found something better: direction.

In my senior year, our assignment was to build a high-quality piece of furniture. While others chose end tables and cabinets, I decided on a Boston rocking chair. My teacher, Mr. Flood, told me it couldn’t be done—the compound angles were too complicated. But I had a secret weapon: Pop Pop. He helped me design a simple jig at home that allowed me to drill the holes precisely.

When I finished that chair, it was beautiful—sturdy, balanced, and polished like something from a fine furniture store. At graduation, Mr. Flood surprised me by walking on stage with my chair and announcing I had won the first-ever Upper Darby Senior Industrial Arts Award. That chair changed my life.

Years later, while managing a Clover Store near my old school, I ran into Mr. Flood. He told me that the Boston rocking chair had become the senior project for every advanced wood shop student since—and my father’s jig was still being used.

That moment connected everything for me. Wood shop didn’t just teach me to build furniture—it taught me how to build confidence, solve problems, and trust my instincts. It was the class that turned doubt into belief, failure into focus, and a “slow kid” into a lifelong learner and builder.

So, when people ask me what my favorite class in school was, I don’t hesitate. It was wood shop—because that’s where I first learned how to build something far more important than a chair. I learned how to build myself.