I was about nine years old, I found a metal box in my dad's workshop. I
asked if I could have it. My dad said, "Sure."
excited to have the box. It was mysterious. "What could be
to remove the hinges. Finding my dad's screwdriver, I began to pry one
of the hinges, bending it back away from the box. I worked and worked.
But no matter how hard I poked and twisted, the hinge held firm.
a new plan. "I'll pull the clasp off the box!" I cried out loud. I knew
that if I could separate the clasp from the box, then it would open. For
this task, I borrowed my dad's pliers. Using the pliers, I pinched the
clasp and then pulled with all my might. I even put the box on the floor
and stood on it to hold it down while I pulled on the clasp with the pliers.
I was so desperate to get into that box that I got my dad's hammer. I pounded
the clasp and then I pounded the hinges. At last, the clasp and the hinges
cracked and the box opened. But the metal box was ruined. It would have
been a fun box to keep things in, just the perfect size for marbles, pencils,
and pennies. But, not now. The box would never close again.
had heard all the racket I was making with the hammer. He arrived just
in time to see that I had destroyed the box. "Why didn't you just ask me
for the key?" he questioned.
I yelled in dismay. I had never even considered a key! I had pushed, pulled,
pinched, and hammered, when all the time, there was a key.
remembered the lesson. There have been times in my life when doors were
closed and passageways to happiness seem to be blocked. But I stopped to
look and listen. Never again did I start in hammering, pushing, and pulling
before I first looked for the key. Often, it was right under my nose.
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