the clock with the knot

Industrial Arts Class. 7^th grade. I vividly remember the room although I can’t recall the teacher’s name. I can picture a couple boys in the class too. Our final project was to make a clock. I don’t really remember many details of the class, but this project I remember. We were allowed to select our wood from some pieces. We had to buy the wood. The wood I wanted to used was the more expensive kind; I didn’t care. I knew I wanted that wood. It was dark, like chocolate, and beautiful. It also had a knot in it. My instructor insisted that I sand out the knot. But I liked the knot. It was what made the wood perfect and unique. The knot was what drew me to select that particular piece of wood. I liked what the knot would do for my clock. It was like an eye into the tree. One remembrance that the clock was once a living thing and that it was art, created by my own hands and not mass manufactured in a production line of unhappiness. I don’t remember what I told the teacher. As a 12 year old, I was incredibly timid. If it were my sister in the same situation she probably would have argued the beneficial aspect of the knot until the teacher agreed with her and required all her classmates to have knots in their wood. I probably just nodded and walked away. Eventually he told me that if I didn’t sand down my knot I would get a lower grade for the project. I wasn’t going to sell out. Give up what I wanted for a grade. So again with the nod and likely a shrug, at least when I turned it in there was definitely a shrug, to let his disappointed tone roll off my shoulders and puddle at my feet. I was a proud owner of the perfect clock! The clock of my dreams.