Building Houses of Straw, Sticks, and Bricks

My story begins in Walbridge, Ohio. The Village of Walbridge, with a population of 2,546, is located Northwest Ohio. The small town is conveniently located alongside Interstate-280 just four miles north of Gate 5 of the Ohio Turnpike. There’s not much happening in Walbridge. The residents relish the quiet, safe, and secure quality of life they find there.

The year is 1971. Seems like eons ago. At age 17, I’m a high school senior. I attend a vocational school, studying to be a teacher. I go to school half days. The other half, I’m a student teacher in a kindergarten classroom.    

Our teacher in the Child Care Assistant program informs the class of twelve want-to-be-teachers that she will randomly drop in on us while we are student teaching. The news makes me feel uneasy, because I always like to be prepared. I’m a bit of a worrywart. I’m nervous about the prospect of not having something really special to present if and when my teacher, Mrs. Radeloff, drops by without notice.

One day, on my walk home from the elementary school, I see a refrigerator cardboard box, discarded at the curb. A day later, it will likely be gone when the garbage men will collect it and place it in a landfill. I immediately have an idea of what I could make out of it, so you can just imagine my elation when I drag the discarded treasure home to begin my creative adventure.

I place the large box on the floor of our unattached garage. My idea is to repurpose the over-sized box into a trifold board. I cut the box into 48-inches wide by 36-inches tall. I measure the outside edge to 12-inches on both sides. I draw a straight line and then use a utility knife to carefully cut into the cardboard, but not all the way. I bend the two sides inwards. For more stability, I apply duct tape to the back of the cardboard where the panels are bent. I place a scrap piece of flannel fabric on the front, and overlap the edges around the back. To secure the flannel edges, I use contact paper. Finally, I cut characters and props using felt, permanent magic markers, straw, twigs, and hand painted bricks.

The day I bring my trifold board to the classroom, I ask the twenty-eight children to gather around the board. The children sit cross-legged, in a semicircle. My attention is temporarily diverted from the children, because as luck would have it, I see Mrs. Radeloff enter the classroom. She slithers into a chair in the back of the room. I adjust the board so it’s secure. I lay out my characters and all the props. “I have a story to share with you today,” I say to the excited children. They squeal with delight. I glance at Mrs. Radeloff. Her spectacles are perched on the edge of her nose, and she has a notepad with pencil in her hand. I’ve got this, I think to myself. After all, I know this classic fairy tale by heart. No cue cards are needed. My story will be a guaranteed crowd pleaser. Just you wait. 

“Once upon a time there were three little pigs. They moved out of their mother’s home because they wanted to see the big, wide world,” I begin. I pick up the three individual pigs and place them one-by-one on the flannel board. I couldn’t be happier. When I made all the props, I made sure to add even the slightest little details.

Immediately a little brown-haired boy with sparkling eyes and a crooked grin frantically waves his hand in mid-air to get my attention. “Miss Shelly,” he repeats, “Miss Shelly.” (Shelly was my childhood nickname. However, for some of the children, “Miss Michele,” was a tongue twister. So we allow the kindergartners to use my nickname.)

“Yes, Johnny?”

Johnny asks, “What are the three little pig’s names?”

My mind draws a blank. I look back at my teacher. In a panic I say, “Well, piggy one, piggy two, and piggy three.” Johnny lowers his hand. He’s satisfied with my answer. Mrs. Radeloff, on the other hand, is not. She dashes out of the classroom – in a huff.

I continue my story. “The three little pigs decided to build a home of their own to keep them safe and warm. The first little pig saw a man stacking straw. He stopped and asked the man, ‘May I have some of that straw to build a house?’ The man agreed and the first little pig built his house very quickly. It wasn’t a very strong house.” I place a straw hut on the flannel board. If Mrs. Radeloff had stuck around, she would have heard the children shriek with delight. I continue, “The first little pig didn’t sleep very well because the straw couldn’t keep out the cold winter air.” I hear lots of giggles. “Just then the first little pig heard a knock at the door.” Many of the children’s eyes widen with curiosity and interest. “’Who’s there?’ The first little pig asked. ‘Come outside,’ ordered a big, bad wolf. ‘No, I’d rather stay where I am,’ the first little pig replied. ’Come out now!’ yelled the wolf angrily. ‘Not by the hair on my chin-y chin chin,’ replied the first little pig. ‘Then I’ll huff and I’ll puff and I’ll blooow your house in!’” I make the straw house fall. All the little children giggle with delight.

“The first little pig ran as fast as he could to his brother’s house. The second little pig had been going along the road when he had a chance encounter with a man pushing a wheelbarrow full of sticks. The second little pig asked the man, ‘May I have some of those sticks to build myself a house?’ The man gave them to him and the second little pig set to work. He quickly built his house of sticks.”  I place a stick house on the board, made with real twigs from a tree. The children clap their hands with delight. They are by now totally captivated. “Then one day the second little pig heard a knock at the door. It was the bad wolf. He said, ‘Little pig, little pig, let me come in.’ The little pig said, ‘No, no, I won’t let you in, not by the hair on my chinny chin.’ The wolf answered, ‘Then I’ll huff and I’ll puff and I’ll blooow your house in.’ Then he huffed and he puffed, and he puffed and he huffed, and then he blew the house down.” I make the stick house fall to the floor. The children are extremely quiet as they wait in anticipation. If Mrs. Radeloff had been there, she could have heard a pin drop in the classroom.

“The first little pig and the second little pig ran as fast as they could to the third little pig’s house. Earlier, the third little pig had been walking on the road when he met a man with a load of bricks. The little pig asked him for enough to build a house. The man agreed, and the third little pig built a strong house of bricks.” I watch the little faces fill with excitement as I place the hand-painted brick house on the board. When all three little pigs were together inside the brick house, the big bad wolf knocked at the door. He yelled, ‘Come outside!’ ‘Not by the hair on my chin-y chin chin,’ replied the third little pig.’ ‘Then I’ll huff and I’ll puff and I’ll blooow your house in!’ The wolf blew with all his might, but he couldn’t blow the house down.” Some of the children start to laugh. “So, the wolf drew an even deeper breath, and blew again. The wolf blew with all his might, but he couldn’t blow the house down. So, the wolf drew an even deeper breath and blew again. And again.” More children are laughing. The animation in the children’s laughter, is the same precious, pure unadulterated joy that make my job as a teacher the best job in the world.

Bit-by-bit, my story unfolds. The giggles increase as I continue with my the story. 

“This made the wolf furious. He said, ‘Little pig, that’s it, I’m going to come down your chimney and eat you!’ But the pig made a giant fire in the fireplace and put a big pot of water on it. Just as the water started to boil, the wolf started coming down the chimney and the little pig took the cover off of the pot and the wolf fell in. The little pig cooked him, ate him for dinner. The three little pigs lived happily ever after.”

If only Mrs. Radeloff could have stayed a while longer. My storytelling hour and my trifold board earn me a standing ovation. The overjoyed children immediately jumped to their feet, with endless applause. You guessed it – I am all tears. 

The following day when I return to the Early Childhood Education classroom, Mrs. Radeloff reprimands me in front of my classmates. “How could you not know the names of the three little pigs?” I squirm with embarrassment. I won’t lie. I fear the wrath of my teacher. In school, failing an assignment is cause for punishment. I was told to go the library and not return until I had the three little pig’s names.

This was waaayyyy before there were computers, cellphones, internet, and iPads. It took me several hours to find their names. The three pig’s name are – I’ll never forget this – Herman, Sherman, and Whitney.

I bring all this up to say that instead of being chewed out for not knowing the three pig’s names, I wish Mrs. Radeloff would have asked me to look more closely at the the important message within the story. I mean, was it really more important to learn the name of the three pigs than to learn the moral lessons from this classic fairy tale? I wish she had taught me (or I just would like to have known about earlier in life) that there’s no substitute for hard work. In the real world the sooner you accept there’s no real substitute for doing the work, the sooner you’ll be able to make some serious progress towards your personal goals. The first two pigs did not want to work hard. They were more concerned with playing and dancing. So, they quickly built their houses. But the third pig was more farsighted and took the time and effort to build the house with bricks and mortar. It is the third pig’s hard work and cleverness that saved all three in the end. There are more than just construction lessons to be learned from these three little pigs.

Building a career, a company, or a relationship takes time. In everything we do in life, hard work, preparation, and dedication makes all the difference in the world. There are no shortcuts in life. Hard work always pays off in the end, and you’ll have a great feeling of accomplishment when you do.