Time Traveling Through Carpentry Class

A short story about tasting unadulterated freedom.

Image by Free-Photos from Pixabay

In my junior year of high school, I was in carpentry class. I was lucky to go to one of those awesome, public schools in small-town America where everyone was on a first-name basis, most of the teachers doubled as coaches in some capacity, and we still had woodshop and metal shop classes.