From a dear friend who helped fringe kids find their path, and in so doing found his heart.
Once in a great while the fortunate of us, receive a gift whose value is beyond estimate; a gift so humbling we can never forget. Such a gift sits in front of me as I write, sitting where it has been for the last 40 years. It is a small box made of golden oak, finished with untold layers of a hand rubbed finish, applied impeccably with hours and hours of loving care.
On the open market it might not be considered priceless, but as the years have gone by I have come to realize its value, because I've come to understand how much of a young boy's heart was put in that box. And, that little boy has never been further from my thoughts than his little box is from me now.
Mike came to the class extremely introverted and very shy. He didn't seem to have any confidence and didn't act like he felt his opinion was worth anything to anybody. Many teachers might look at his total year’s accomplishment, one small oaken box, and not give him much of a grade for the year, but in my book he gets an A+.
Early in the year Mike came to school one morning with a dirty oil stained little box and wanted to know if I thought he could refinish it. It was just after I had shown some of the class how to put a beautiful polyurethane finish on the chess boards they were making. Mike hadn't had the courage to take on a project as grand as a chessboard. But now he came apologetically in with his greasy box, standing back from my desk like he was sure I didn't have time for him. But in time he screwed up his courage, wondering whether his box could be "finished" like "the chess boards"? He asked it like he was hoping I would say no.
The little box he held was a little bit like some of these kids, it might not look like much, but sometimes a scruffy lump of coal can hide a diamond in the rough. So I told Mike I thought it was an excellent choice, hoping there was something under the grime worth the effort of uncovering it. With that blessing, Mike seemed eager to begin, and I sent him off to begin the process with a toothbrush and some paint thinner.
The box had apparently been his grandfathers, who used it for leftover nuts and bolts from 50 years as a shade tree mechanic and it certainly looked like there could be 50 years of accumulation of grime on it. There was no way to tell what the wood underneath all the grease was. We really couldn't tell whether it would be worth all the work until he had cleaned it up and revealed just what was under their. I guess at that time I hadn't realized the real value of this box wouldn't be in its wood.
Mike must've spent a week working with steel wool, a tooth brush and paint thinner to expose a great little Golden Oak box underneath all the dirt and grime. It apparently had been part of an old roll top desk, probably a letterbox because of its size, about 8 inches square and 3 inches deep. It had delicate inlaid brass hinges and a certain cachet about it. And if my imagination wasn't playing tricks on me, I think Mike was already holding himself slightly taller as the others took notice of what he had. One boy even offered to buy it from him, but unknown to me Mike had other plans.
Now, Mike set out in earnest with steel wool and sand paper, beginning the process of getting it ready for the polyurethane. It probably took him two or three weeks, and a hundred questions before he had the courage to think about starting on the finishing process. He would work a spell, and then cautiously approach my desk, standing behind anybody else who might be there, as though he didn't feel his question was as important as the other kids. Then, with a little encouragement he would stammer out his question which I would answer as best I could. Then he would go back to his workspace and I would watch him agonize over whether he was ready yet to start the polyurethaning or if he should work on it a little more.
With plenty of time and patience, there's nothing difficult about putting a stunning furniture-grade finish on any piece of wood. All it takes is a little know-how, and a lot of hours and work. Mike had the time and apparently the patience to be exacting and I began to wonder what he might be able to do with his little box.
He would sand a while and look at his box from all angles. Then he'd run his fingers lightly over the surface and then use the steel wool on it. It was as though he already had a beautiful picture of in his mind of how his little box would look when he was done, yet part of him wasn't sure he could actually do it. Finally, almost a month into his project, with untold hours of patient cleaning and sanding, he picked up the brush and dipped it in the polyurethane.
When putting a finish on wood, the first few layers are put on to build up a base coat so one can send off the high spots, leaving the low parts of the surface untouched. Then new layers are added and let dry and the process is repeated. The trick is to stop sanding each layer at the just the right time to allow the low spots to build up, while again sanding off the high spots until eventually you bring both the high and low to one level which can then be finely worked into a glass like surface.
Watching Mike learn this technique was a joy to behold. He would gently sand a while, then run his fingertips gently over the surface, reading its highs and lows as he learned when the sand and when to stop. After months of careful sanding and feeling, sanding and feeling, then carefully adding another layer of finish, he began to have confidence in his newfound ability. He seemed to know where he was going, and I thought he probably had the patience to get there.
Not many kids have what it takes for this process, at least not to begin with. They don't take the time to let the polyurethane really dry or they don't have the patience to spend the hours it takes to sand, re-coat, let dry and re-sand again. But Mike did and he used all of his waiting and much of his work time to read and ponder. I couldn't help but wonder what he was thinking and considering as he read and sanded, then sanded and read. But I knew he was changing inside just as a little box was changing outside, because he was standing taller, and his progress on the box was becoming a metaphor for what was happening to Mike.
As he approached the stage where he was ready to put on the last, mirror like finish on his box, I held my breath. These final four or five coats are worked with emery paper so fine that the surface begins to feel almost like silk, as you reach the final coats. I still have in my mind a picture of Mike sitting there working patiently on his little box reading a book or listening to music or maybe just listening to what was happening around him. Slowly the little box started to attract attention. The more he worked on his box the more beautiful it became. The more beautiful the box became, the taller Mike stood.
By the year Mike was in my class we were beginning to have a steady stream of people coming through to observe. Someway the word had gotten around about the "unusual program" at our school. There was rarely a day there weren’t a few students from one of the educational classes at the college or cluster of new student teachers observing. This was also the year Henry was being considered for the presidency of the new community college, although we didn't know he was being watched at the time. In addition there were always curious people from the community who had heard about the strange things “that teacher” was doing and wanted to see how he was spending their tax dollars.
As people wandered through the classes’collection of refrigerators, work tables and old sofas, Mike and his beautiful oaken box stood out, like a jewel among the clutter. They always had comments or questions about his box or his work. The attention began to give Mike a little more courage, and he began to even look people in the eye sometimes, as he answered their questions. Occasionally I even overhear him explaining just what he was doing at whatever step of the process he was in. I think it was beginning to dawn on him that he was doing something special, something other people felt might be impossible for them.
During the last month of school Mike and his box were inseparable. He carried it with him to lunch; he carried it home at night and back in the morning. It gave me a lump in my throat to see the change that had come over Mike as he had salvaged a useless little box. I often wondered what his granddad thought of his bolt box and grandson now.
On the last day of school Mike came to my desk holding his box shyly in both hands. For just this moment, he was back to his tentative self. He set the box gently on my desk and in almost a whisper said “It's for you”. At first, I thought I had heard wrong, but one look at his face and I knew I hadn’t heard wrong. I watched him for minute and said, “Mike you can't do this, you’ve worked too hard to just give it away. He stood there and looked me in the eye, and with a sweet, shy smile simply said, “I was making it for you all along. It's for your chess pieces”.
As I write this, there are tears in my eyes as l look at that simple but elegant little oaken box sitting on the corner of my desk, still holding my chess pieces after all these years. It's still as beautiful as the boy who made it. Over the years I’ve never received a more heartfelt gift than that boy gave me that day. What kind of a person would spend almost a year of his life lovingly salvaging an old piece of junk, turning it into a work of art, then so generously give it away? I know the kind of boy who did it and I would love to meet the man he became.
Mike, wherever you are, it’s time for you to have your little box back, sitting on your desk where it now belongs. It's warmed my heart over the years, keeping fresh the warm memories of that classroom long ago. It's time now for me to put it back into the hands that made it, back where it belongs.
If anyone else knows of a someone, now in his mid-50s, who spent his 6th grade year at Phoenix Elementary salvaging a small oaken box, and then gave it to his teacher, please let me know so I can get his box back where it belongs.
