Seventh grade. Woodshop. Our assignment was to make a simple birdhouse. With the undeveloped attention span and stream-of-consciousness priorities of a thirteen-year-old, I completely ignored  board-foot calculations, and any notion of efficiently using lumber.  I also breezed through the steps that involved applying glue to joints before nailing the pieces together.

I recall squeezing glue onto my fingers, and attempting to push and smear the adhesive into the joints. Somehow, I could just feel the presence of Bill Nelson, the wood shop teacher, standing behind me – quietly watching.

Mr. Nelson paused and softly mentioned, “That’s not going to do anything. The only way to make it unbreakable is to make sure it is first strong  on the inside.”

He turned away, but paused and leaned back in. “A lot of important things are that way.”

It wasn’t until years later that it dawned on me that Mr. Nelson wasn’t really talking about birdhouses. And I don’t think I recall any other teaching from junior high school that was as profound and useful.