Finding someone to teach me how to fight was more of a challenge than finding a place to learn how to do woodworking. So that’s where I started. The local public university ran classes. Signing up was easy—even if I had to smooth over some of the permissions with Mom and Dad and the school.

  The university wasn’t either of the two I had been to so long ago. This one was large, with many buildings. The one I went to was a small garage-like building. It was as if it had been a place for mechanics to work on cars in the past that had been repurposed for the woodworking classes.

  As soon as I entered the building for the first time, the smell of sawdust and oil hit me. The classroom was filled with many tools—some of which I recognized. Saws, rasps, chisels, and many more lined the racks around the room. Large wooden tables with built-in clamps took up most of the floor space. A surly looking man stood by the front of the room while students of all ages milled about. The surly man walked over to me as soon as he saw me.

  “It’s dangerous in here,” he said.

  “Ah, I’m a student,” I told him. “Here’s the permission slip from the office.”

  I handed him the piece of paper that would let me take the class. He read it over before shaking his head.

  “Alright. Be careful and listen to what I say. If you need help ask, don’t just do it. I don’t want you losing a finger or something, ok?”

  “Sure. No problem.”

  I picked an open table. Standing to the side gave me a better view of the teacher—the table not in my way as much. I sat on the stool there and waited for the rest of the students to filter in before the class started.

  “Alright,” the teacher. “This is the introductory class for woodworking. I’m going to assume you have no knowledge and build from there. Today, we’re going to go over the tools and safety before measuring and cutting a section of wood and drilling a hole in it.”

  “What about projects?” Someone asked.

  “Once we go over the basics, there will be a project to encapsulate everything you’ve learned. That won’t happen until the end of this class in a couple months.”

  He stopped and looked around the room.

  “Any other questions before I start talking safety? No? Good.”

  The teacher lifted his hand and wiggled his four-and-a-half fingers.

  “Once upon a time, I had five fingers on this hand. I blew off safety, figuring that if I was careful I wouldn’t get hurt. Well—as you can imagine—that worked out really well for me. Safety is important. You only have ten fingers, two eyes, and one life. Don’t be like me. I can only flip someone half a bird!”

  The students laughed. The teacher smiled before his face turned more serious.

  “In this shop, you will wear safety glasses. You will keep all fingers and toes clear of any machine that can rip them off. This class will cover hand tools primarily, so there won’t be many electrically powered machines that could quickly dismember you. That’s for the intermediate level. But you would do well to remember that it only takes a single lapse of concentration to lose a part of your body you’d rather keep. Following safety guidelines gives you just enough wiggle room that you might get out unscathed. Do you understand me? I don’t want anyone nicknamed nine fingers in here!”

  The teacher looked around the room to see the students generally nodding.

  “I mean it, man in the yellow shirt who looks half asleep.”

  I turned my head to see the man—jerk awake at the stares of everyone.

  “If you’re so tired that you can’t stay awake, you have no business being here. Get out of my shop.”

  The student tried to argue, but the teacher was firm. There would be no fucking around in his shop.

  “That kind of behavior is what will make you lose a finger. I will absolutely no tolerate it. Now that he’s gone, let’s begin the lesson with a discussion of the tools you’ll be using during this class and in the future.”

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  The teacher showed us several different types of saws—both human powered and electrically powered. The same was true for sandpaper, rasps, gouges, chisels, and hammers. Lathe work was something for the advanced class, though he did point out where it was and what it was used for.

  “I’m going to give you a length of wood. I want you to mark the middle before cutting it in half with a saw. You’re free to use any method you like to find the middle—I will explain each method in detail next time and why you might want to use one over the other. Today is more about exploration and getting used to some of the tools.

  “When you have cut your piece of wood in half, call me over so I can take a look. Then we’ll move on to drilling holes once everyone’s made their cuts.”

  The teacher passed out varying lengths of wood to each person. They were about an inch thick and three inches wide. Mine was almost a foot in length. Once I had my piece, I considered how best to measure the middle. Ultimately, I decided to get a pencil and a ruler to find the middle. For the line, I opted to use a square.

  I measured the length of the wood and calculated the middle. I marked that length in two places before putting the square on it and running a line perpendicular to the side of the wood that intersected both of the points I had made earlier.

  To cut it, I pulled the smallest handsaw I could find that was meant to saw wood in half and not make joinery cuts. It was still a little too big for me, but it would do. I clamped the piece of wood so that the line I wanted to cut was just past the edge of the clamp. I pulled the saw back twice to make an initial notch. Then I began to saw back and forth.

  Sawing by hand was a difficult proposition. To get it right, I had to ensure the saw was in line with where I wanted to cut. The saw also had to be perfectly vertical and not tilted or twisted, else the cut would be off. Since it was my first time, I managed to cut mostly along the line, but the saw was twisted a bit so the pieces had a bit of a bevel on them.

  I put the saw away before raising my hand and waiting for the teacher. He came over after attending to another of the students.

  “Let me see what you did,” he said, his hand out.

  I picked up the two pieces of wood and handed them to him. He looked them over, comparing them to one another.

  “This was your first time?”

  I nodded.

  “Not bad. They are close to the same size. Do you see how the pieces of wood make a v when you place them back to back?”

  “Yeah.”

  “That’s because the saw was twisted when you were cutting. You did a good job to keep the cut fairly straight. Cutting with a saw by hand is difficult. That’s why you would usually cut outside the line and then finish it up with sanding or chisels depending on what you were working on. How did you do the line for the cut?”

  I explained what I did and my reasoning.

  “I see,” he said. “You had good instincts. Next time, you should also add a line on the side to help guide your cut so that it isn’t as twisted. Finally, the method you used works as long as the piece of wood you are working with is square. If it isn’t you would have to line up the dots you made with a ruler and make the line that way. Good job. Hang tight while I check the others’ work, ok?”

  “Thanks.”

  The teacher smiled before moving to the next person whose hand was up. When he had eventually finished getting around to everyone, he began explaining the next thing he wanted us to do.

  “Now that you have two pieces of wood that are mostly the same size, I want you to find the center of each piece and drill a hole there. Try to drill it as straight as you can.”

  The instructions were simple and clear as mud, but I knew how to find the center easily enough. A ruler diagonally from two points done twice yielded an x in the middle. Where they intersected was my best estimation of the middle. It might be off a small bit, but it would be close enough.

  I took a hand drill from a shelf and clamped the wood so that the hole I wanted to drill was just off the workbench. I began by spinning the drill backwards for a few turns. It wasn’t on purpose—I’d simply cranked it the wrong way—but it was fortunate that I had. It helped to dig a small impression to keep the bit in place while I spun the drill the correct way. I did my best to keep the drill perpendicular to the wood so the hole would be straight. It came out alright, I felt.

  I did the same for the second piece of wood before returning the drill to the shelf where I’d found it. I raised my hand and waited for the teacher to make his way over to me. He picked up each piece and inspected the holes.

  “Good job,” he said. “They’re straight and appear to be centered. What you did to find the center works for a rectangular object, but wouldn’t work for a circle or a more oddly shaped one. You put the tools away nicely, so you can head on out since we’re done for the day.”

  “Thanks,” I said. “What do I do with the wood?”

  “Put it in one of the cubbies on the side. There should be one with your name on it. We’ll be doing more with those pieces of wood next time.”

  I nodded. I picked up the two pieces of wood and walked towards the exit. As the teacher has said, there were cubbies along the wall, each with a name on it. I found the one with my name and placed the two pieces of wood inside before leaving. Dad was waiting for me in the parking lot just outside the building.

  “How was it?” he asked when I got in his truck.

  “It was fun,” I said. “Pretty basic for the moment, so we’ll see. I’m definitely going back—at least for now.”

  “Great!”

  I told Dad about what I’d done and that made him smile, which in turn made me smile. The classes were every week, so all I needed to do was find someone to teach me how to fight once or twice a week in a way that wouldn’t conflict with my woodworking classes.

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