DIY Is Where It’s At

Before HGTV and an endless series of YouTube videos gave us the keys to the DIY kingdom, there was another method of learning that had lasted for millennia. The entry point in modern times involved holding a flashlight for dad.

Dads could seemingly do anything. And in many cases they could, because they had to. Money was tight, service providers were sparse, and time was of the essence. Why wait til Tuesday for a plumber if the old man could fix a leaky sink tonight?

Like so many of his generation, my dad was capable and willing. A personality trait that led him to ultimately take a big delusionary bite out of the DIY pie. His plan was to build a mansion — an 8,000-square-foot contemporary behemoth in the wilderness of New England. Perched on a hillside facing north, his plan was audacious but simple. Do as much as possible himself, with the help of his sons.
An ambitious goal made more so by the realization that his sons were in the 3rd and 4th grade at the time.

How many of us can say they spent a pre-adolescent summer packing dynamite into bedrock then sending boulders the size of Volkswagens flying with the movement of a plunger? With adult supervision, of course.

My supervisor was Mr. Risley, a man who lives large in my memory. I recall him looking very much like Andy Devine, a popular character actor of the 1940s. In his overalls and weathered hat Mr. Risley was kind and willing to teach. He taught me to drill into granite, snake the sticks of explosive materials into the hole, pack it tight with sand, then stand back for the big show.

It was an interesting summer. Not particularly safe or enjoyable, but it was highly educational in a variety of subject areas that weren’t likely to come up at school.

Which brings us to the crux of the matter. School is intended, at least in theory, to prepare students to be successful in the future. The lessons of the classroom are ideally supposed to prepare the student to excel or at least be competitive in the world outside the classroom.

That’s a challenging goal in a time when handheld devices compete for a student’s time and attention, often winning that battle. And with the advent of LED lights affixed to pretty much every inanimate object we can imagine, the days of holding the flashlight for dad are long gone. That’s if dad has the ability to tweak a carburetor, or make an electrical connection, or square a corner in the first place.

Thankfully, I am not alone in the world. There are others who have similarly peculiar backgrounds. Older men and women who grew up planning, building, and fixing things as if no obstacle was so big we couldn’t find a work-around.

Where I see this most often is in the place far too few consider a viable option: The airport. Specifically, within the confines of a hangar. Big, open, cluttered with workbenches and toolboxes. This is where competence can be learned and put into practice. This is where confidence can be earned. And this is where an individual still too young to drive a car can have their first flirtation with the pride of real, tangible accomplishment.

We’re building airplanes with teenagers.

For me this started with a phone call. A local high school aero club took on the challenge of building a Zenith CH750 Cruzer. One of the adult leaders asked if I’d be willing to accept the task of working with the kids to turn this collection of sheet metal into a flying airplane.

That sounds like fun to me. Kids are much more capable than we might like to think. They just need a chance and maybe a bit of adult-induced restraint.

What appeals to me about this work is ironically not the idea of having a flying airplane in the end. Not entirely, anyway. I have to admit in the realm of carrots and sticks, it’s a pretty darned appealing carrot. But the bigger picture is what really lights my fire.

You see, building an airplane is about more than just opening a shipping crate, inventorying the bits and pieces, then snapping it all together. That’s part of it, but there is so much more to the process.

There is planning involved. Tools need to be on hand. The ability to use those tools productively and safely has to be fostered. Plans and assembly manuals need to be read and fully understood before fasteners are applied to parts. All work has to be documented, along with the names of the individuals performing the various tasks. And there are inspections to be done.

The kids involved in these projects learn so much more than the names of airplane parts. They develop the ability to work as part of a cohesive team. Real world problem solving is a constant feature of the program. They even get to wrestle with financial considerations of damaged parts needing to be repaired or replaced. There will be damaged parts. Believe me.

This is a full-blown educational experience that has long-lasting positive effects. Imagine a few years down the road when that kid sits in their first big job interview. The HR representative will almost certainly say, “So, tell me something about yourself.” Because that’s what they do.

“Well,” my young mentees might answer, “I built an airplane when I was in high school.” An answer that is both rare and attention getting. Perhaps it is the difference between a perfunctory conversation and the extension of a job offer.

Yes, DIY has its place in the world. It only takes a few mentors to make a profound impact on a large group of interested but inexperienced kids who deserve a shot at a better life. And while it is a relatively small number of volunteers who make big things happen, there’s always room for one more.

Someone like you would be perfect.