Essay #21
I was eight years old when I made my first potato cannon. When I was growing up, my family’s idea of fun was making a variety of wild contraptions in our garage. From crafting bows out of wood to building high-speed remote-control cars, I loved spending endless hours with my dad and brother working on engaging DIY projects.
My fascination with building structures continued during fourth grade, when six classmates and I formed an Odyssey of the Mind (OotM) team. We spent more than 15-20 hours a week doing team-building activities, solving complex problems, and presenting our solutions in meticulously crafted performances. We learned how to collaborate effectively and manage elaborate projects. The most challenging part was that adults couldn’t give us direct assistance, which forced us to try, fail, and try again until we came up with our best work. We used power tools to build large mechanisms: one year it was a wooden unicorn that turned into a combine harvester, and the next year we created a huge pigeon that turned into a flashing New Year’s Eve sign. OoTM was kind of crazy, but it gave me the chance to build with free rein. We earned spots in the world championship, where the OotM founder inspired us to keep creating wherever we go in life.
I took his advice to heart. After getting a 3D printer during middle school, I used it to create simple objects, such as puzzles, but eventually, I wanted to challenge myself and make something complicated. I was browsing on a website called Thingiverse, which is geared toward sharing 3D-printing projects, and discovered instructions for making an impressive Iron Man helmet with a faceplate that lights up and opens. The second I saw it, I knew I had to make it. Printing the parts took over 100 hours, but I barely noticed the passage of time. To wire the helmet, I taught myself how to solder by watching YouTube videos. My first attempt wasn’t successful because I accidentally melted and ruined part of the circuit board. Flush with overconfidence, I thought I could make this helmet without practicing but realized I needed to be more careful and pay close attention to details.
After I broke a second board and bought a third, I programmed it to light up and move—but only briefly. Frustrated and exhausted, I took a break from the project. The unfinished helmet sat on my shelf staring at me every day with its empty eye sockets. After suffering a year of Iron Man’s judgment, I was determined to give it one last try, so I replaced the dead battery with a more powerful one and was stunned and overjoyed when Iron Man finally came to life. The key lesson was that sometimes it’s easy to overlook a simple solution.
After spending over 200 hours on this project, which turned into an ordeal, I learned again that it’s okay to fail when creating as long as you persevere and improve your skills—a takeaway that has proven extremely valuable with my high school’s FIRST Robotics Competition team, The Body Electric.
When I joined this innovative group in ninth grade, I was amazed at the size and complexity of the robots we were making. However, everything about robotics seems so natural—like the next step up from all the hands-on building I did as a child. As we prototype our designs, test them, and fix errors, I find that I thrive on the analytical thought process involved with engineering challenges. Seeing these sophisticated robots come to life always captivates me.
Ever since I can remember, I’ve lost track of time while solving design problems and building intricate mechanisms. I’m eager to become a mechanical engineer because of the limitless professional possibilities. I might build advanced robots for manufacturing or design new spacecraft systems. Who knows? I might even create a real Iron Man helmet.