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I come from a long line of self-educated jacks-of-all-disasters. If this student engineering kit could effectively instruct my younger boys to build a wooden toy apparatus with moving parts, then I was willing to admit that the Timberkits Series may be the next wonder of the world. Could Timberkits uncover an aptitude for engineering in my family? Time would tell. I looked at the box and read the “Contents” description:
- Wooden components shaped and drilled (Hmmm...)
- Sandpaper for finishing (I have to sand?)
- PVA glue (What???)
- Parts list (Please God, don’t let there be any more than three parts!)
- Comprehensive instructions (We’ll see.)
Next, my eyes glanced down at the corner of the box sleeve. It read, “For ages 9 and over.” I laughed to myself, but continued reading. “The assistance of an adult may be advisable.” By now I was laughing out loud . . . really loud. I tried to imagine the Palla children building a wooden engineer-kit oilfield pump jack—with me assisting them. The thought still makes me smile.
Two weeks later I finally found the courage to try it. All the women of the house had left for a few hours. I locked the doors, closed the curtains, and called my two youngest boys to the dining room table. For some reason, I believed we could make a mess and destroy the evidence before my wife and daughter got home.
Drawing from my vast life experience, as well as my significantly underdeveloped engineering skills, I decided an assembly line would work best. I would read the instructions, Ethan (age 10) would locate the parts (he’s good at finding needles in haystacks), and Aidan (age 12) would handle the gluing, assembling, and sanding. This method would automatically place all the blame on the boys when the whole thing collapsed into a heap of sticky splinters and confusion . . . I’m so smart.
To my amazement, the Timberkits Design Company had already calculated and anticipated my engineering disabilities. Their design team would actually prove that skill can be learned and achieved by anyone. I called out the parts with authority in my voice: “Short bearing block . . . well head cylinder . . . lever arm pivot . . . counterweight . . . 05 x 62 dowel . . .” Ethan answered with enthusiasm, “Check, check, check, check, check. Could you read them off a little faster, Daddy? It’s not like I have to search for them in the garage or anything.” What a wise guy.
Within a two-hour period, we had built a major portion of the project. Everything was working correctly. The glue dried quickly, and the moving parts actually moved in the direction they were intended. The finished product looked just like the photograph on the cover of the box! (Why doesn’t paint by numbers turn out this great?) I was awed and inspired by my children—especially since I checked out early and they finished it the next morning on their own. They must have gotten their talent from my side of the gene pool.
Let’s hear it for the Timberkits Engineering Series! Quality, hands-on education that proves “You CAN do it.” A miracle in every box. Here’s my suggestion: Buy it for your children, get out of their way, display the finished product in a prominent place, and brag honestly, “Yes, they did it all by themselves.”
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