The Philanthropic 4th Grade Inventor

When I was in the fourth grade it was announced that we would have an Invention Fair, and it would be competitive.  I did well in science--because at that point the bulk of it had to do with reading comprehension versus mathematical or mechanical inclination.  So I had yet to really learn my shortcomings with regard to truly inventing and building a thing of science; in other words I was pretty confident I could win the whole thing.  My invention came to me like a thunderbolt and nothing could deter me from the course of my extraordinary vision---logic, reason, thoughtful criticism--nothing.  I will try now in earnest to explain the ridiculous, cumbersome, completely useless thing I somehow convinced my dad to build for me. 

First off, my target demographic was the elderly, disabled, or generally weak population.  So my intentions, as ever, were good.  I was concerned with the plight of the geriatric dog owner who struggled to lift and pour a heavy bag of dog food into a dish, and even for the owners who opted for the slightly less strenuous strategy of scooping the food out with a cup and stooping over to dump it into the bowl.  As far as I was concerned this was unacceptable and it was high time someone devised a system to prevent feeding-of-dog related back strain.  This, friends, was the inspiration for "The Doggy Disher", an invention very much born from the lens of my very limited and specific experience.  Perhaps not everyone owned a German Pointer who ate immense volumes of food.   And perhaps not everyone bought the super mega ultra giant economy sized bag of dry dog food.  And perhaps not everyone hoisted the entire impossible bulk of it with a grunt to pour it into the dog's dish each day, as my dad did.  But I had no way of knowing these things, so I came home and told my parents of my idea with fiery enthusiasm.  The device I was proposing was, in layman's terms, a slide.  And my dad built it for me exactly according to my instructions without offering up any gentle discouragement based on the idiocy of the project that I can recall.  It was a solid wooden structure, about 3.5 feet tall.  The idea was that the operator of this system would keep his or her bag of dog food placed conveniently on a table adjacent to "The Doggy Disher" and would then proceed to use a small scoop to dump the food down the ramp directly into Fido's bowl.  I even drew a picture of a crying dog captioned "More Food, Please" and taped it to the bottom of the food dish to further encourage feeding one's pet regularly. 

I remember being so excited about "The Doggy Disher" that I could hardly sleep the night before the big Invention Fair.  My mom helped me carry my stupidly heavy and unwieldy contraption into the school.  Kids and teachers alike looked on with great curiosity.  I softly beamed at the attention, but didn't say much about it.  I was anticipating the big reveal as the teacher's came by to observe and hear each student's pitch about their invention.  As more inventions arrived I grew a little nervous.  It was always clear whose parents were the most involved, handy, and/or artistic when big school projects came up, and a couple of those kid/parent duos were clearly playing to win.  I took heart that my invention was easily the most enormous.  The invention that had me most worried was an easy-make bed.  It was a lovely little bed, about the size of a shoe box, built with exceptional carpentry and fitted with a tiny, adorable quilt.  The bed could be made or unmade with the turn of a crank.  It was fucking exquisite and I felt my heart sink.  I braced for second place, consoling myself with the belief that my invention would serve the greater good more than some cool bed-making machine, even if all the teachers who were "oohing and ahhing" the adorable mahogany hand crank couldn't see it.  So I was pretty surprised when I came in third, behind a device that dried Barbie clothes, again, by crank power.  Cranks must have been in vogue that year!  I remember sulking and thinking my own cranky thoughts.  Who washes Barbie clothes....ever?...much less enough to warrant a device that would dislocate your shoulder before the clothes ever dried?  I concluded that my teachers valued cuteness over pragmatism, and I lost a little respect for them that day. 

It didn't take much more than a few months to poke holes in the reasonableness, much less necessity, of my own invention.  How were these poor, aged, crippled souls getting these gargantuan bags of dog food into their homes to begin with?  What benevolent family member, friend, or grocer was hauling these bags to them regularly, much less purchasing and transporting the extremely heavy tripping hazard and eyesore, "The Doggy Disher", into their home?  I hadn't really thought it through, I mused with my wise 5th grade hindsight.  But in the end the only thing that mattered was that my parents believed in and humored me to such a spectacular extent that I never had a moment of self-doubt over my brilliance.  They let me unravel my less-than-stellar ideas and talent-deficits for myself as I went along.  They allowed me to determine out how and where I excelled.  And they never shamed or faulted me for anything I tried and failed at spectacularly.  They were my biggest fans through it all.