I exhaled at the sight of the crooked nail sticking out of the wood.
And to think that it was only my first swing.
I decided that next time, I would try to swing my hammer more carefully, more precisely.
There’s gotta be a way to drive that nail in just right, I thought. Some kind of trick or special angle. But then again, I was a girl with a hammer. And I’m not saying that girls aren’t capable of using hammers. I’m just saying that I was a girl with a hammer who hadn’t swung a hammer in quite a while, and it certainly showed.
I mean, it’s not like I go around swinging hammers all day. I don’t work construction and I only wear hard hats when I have to do my best “YMCA” impression.
For me, swinging a hammer is like trying to hit a piñata: I might as well be blindfolded. I always feel like I can never get it right, like I can never be the one to make that successful, powerful hit and win candy for everyone.
Alas, I knew no parade of candy was going to fall out of this piece of wood, but I had to keep swinging.
The sight of the crooked nail — and by this time it was really, really crooked — frustrated me, but I knew that I could do it. Girl power!
OK So maybe after a few more tries, it occurred to me that I would be better off drilling screws into pieces of plywood.
So that’s what I did.
I wouldn’t call myself a girly girl, but I’m definitely not a girl who uses power tools that often.
Ever since I was little, I’ve hated the sound of a saw. Call me a hypocrite for enjoying the smell of sawdust, but I’ll probably never enjoy the sound of a saw.
When I realized this past weekend, however, that that saw could be used to build something special for a family in need, I didn’t hold my ears or walk away from that ear-splitting sound. Instead, I stayed in that garage and I continued to drill screws into the plywood. I was part of the team, too.
Looking back on my weekend spent volunteering, I’m glad that I stepped up my game and did what I could to contribute to the project. I didn’t just stand around and let someone else do all the work. The screws that I put into the plywood might not have been perfect, but they’re there, and I’d like to think that I mastered the screwdriver.
Will I ever master the hammer? I bet you’re biting your nails to find out.