Building Blocks

I grew up with this photo, framed near the front door, exactly where the incident happened.

My mother was in the kitchen; I suppose she was cooking. At 3 years old, I still didn’t understand that the world didn’t revolve around me. After being exiled from said kitchen, I immediately came up with plans to gain her attention. My beautiful pink dress didn’t seem to be working anymore. Then it came to me, “the front door!” If I were to build something here, everyone would have to notice. I was lacking some tools. I only came prepared with my wooden building blocks, each one with a soft velvet outline in the shape of numbers or the American alphabet. All my other toys were in the playroom, just down the hall, but I was running out of time! I could hear The Doors playing softly in the background, and that meant dinner time was minutes away. I started by stacking 5 blocks, one on top of the other. Then it finally happened, my Picasso moment.

With the remaining blocks, I started building pairs on top of the single-block tower. My structure was becoming fragile, but I had gone too far to quit. I drove past the fear. My project still wasn’t done, and it had to be truly amazing. Even the neighbors would hear about this! So, I slowly began my finale. 5 blocks, stacked one by one, on top of the pairs. My knowledge at that time told me that this defied gravity; how could it still be standing? I couldn’t have been prouder of myself. I started running around the house, squealing to my family about my new creation. If I knew about patents at the time, I probably would have asked for one. Everyone gathered, but was oddly quiet. I didn’t understand. Mom and Dad always marveled at my little buildings, even my Legos!

According to legend, it was my father who gave me the bad news. “Whitney, you know this will have to be taken down, right?” What? I was devastated and confused. Two seconds from a full-blown tantrum. He said, “I’m sorry, kid, but at some point, we have to close the front door. It’s getting cold outside.” A part of me was convinced it was some sort of sabotage. Jealousy at my science revelation, and just wanted to destroy it. Yet… there was a resounding logic to it. I was about to start crying when my mom finally came running in. She always had good ideas, like taking a picture! “How about we take a picture with you and your tower?” I wasn’t angry anymore, but the adrenaline was still rushing through me. I could barely hold in my excitement when my mom asked me to pose for the picture. Old school disposable camera. Even though I couldn’t keep it, I was touched that my mom wanted to take a picture of it.

For years, that photo hung on the entrance wall, inspiring a sort of urban legend. My parents would proudly boast, amazed that a toddler could make such a delicate structure. No one really knew how I built it. As the black sheep of the family, I accepted any inference that I was smart or special. At first, it was just an inside joke among the extended family, but in high school, it sparked curiosity among my friends. They would ask how I was able to stack the blocks long enough to take a picture. Even I didn’t know the answer. Finally, my competitive nature got the better of me, and I searched the house for my blocks. I knew they would be somewhere. My sentimental nature comes from my dad, and we hardly throw anything special away. That picture made my blocks special. The velvet had already started to fade, but the edges were clean and sharp with smooth wood on top. Provides perfect balance for stacking blocks.

My first attempt was a disaster. I worked carefully to make sure every block lined up perfectly, assuming perfection led to balance. It didn’t take long to see that the method would not work. I could barely stack 3 blocks. It was a true accident that I found the answer. Still frustrated and crouched over my toys, I thought one of the blocks looked crooked and bent over to fix it, but I looked at the picture for a hint before I did. All the blocks were crooked. Stacking them at angles rather than perfectly straight created a strong foundation, allowing me to go as high as I wanted. I took every detail and created the same structure almost exactly. I finally explained the family mystery, but it wasn’t as satisfying as I thought. There wasn’t any grand plan, just little kid fingers. I still enjoy the metaphor, though. When things seem too perfect and just can’t be balanced, fuck up some shit.