Learning to Weld
When I signed up for the welding class at my high school, I expected loud noise, a lot of sparks, and 1not much else. I had no idea that a torch could teach me patience. On the first day, Mr. Alvarez 2has handed each of us a scrap of steel3, and asked us to run one clean line of metal across it. My line looked like a trail left by a frightened snail4. Wobbling and full of gaps.
Over the following weeks, Mr. Alvarez never rushed us. He would stand behind my shoulder and watch the puddle of glowing metal 5besides the sparks around it. "The puddle tells you everything," he said. 6Gradually, I learned to read it: when it shone like a wet coin, I was moving at the right speed; when it dulled, I had gone too fast.
By the end of October, my welds were 7strong enough, to join two pieces of angle iron into a frame. I built a small toolbox 8who's corners were square and whose seams were solid. 9When I carried it home that evening, my father tapped the lid and asked who had made it. I said, "I did," and the pride I felt surprised me. 10Welding is a useful skill.