“It’s impossible.” 

“Or is it?” I countered. 

The stakes were high. I had put hours of back-breaking work in, and I was faced with a stubborn client. 

My 3-year-old sister looked at me and said, “Then prove it.”

A couple of hours earlier, I had finalized my plan for a product too good to be true. I slipped off my bed, turned the doorknob ever so quietly, and tip-toed downstairs to cut a deal with my supplier. After all, every ground-breaking invention has to start somewhere. I approached her, straightening my back and presenting a confident and collected front. 

“Mom, do we have any cardboard boxes?”

My skillful hands guided scissors through paper, folded cardboard as much as humanly possible, and bound my invention together with a purple Elmer’s glue stick. The machine, once completed, would only be impressive if I could make it work. I grabbed pieces of broccoli and celery, praying for a successful test run. Opening the door on the right side of my creation, I pulled out a box and placed the vegetables inside. Cardboard squeaked as I gently tucked the box back in. I pulled a cardboard tab, waiting for the smallest bump to start twisting a knob, readying my other hand to pull one more tab. Bump. I held my breath as I pressed some buttons, opened a door, and took out a box; victory had never been so sweet.

I brought my client to the living room where my invention waited. 

Clearing my throat, I started, “Do you like vegetables?” 

“Noo…” she answered.

“What about candy?”

“Of course I like candy!”

I smiled, sitting her down in front of my creation.

 “Meet the solution to your problems: the Sweets-a-tron!”

“What does it dooo?” My customer had started to reach, sticky hands out, toward the Sweets-a-tron.

“You will get to watch,” I said as I sat her back down, “disgusting, healthy vegetables get turned into candy!”

Her face went from surprise to skepticism. “It’s impossible.” 

“Or is it?” I countered. I was prepared.

She looked at me and said, “Then prove it.”

Sitting next to the Sweets-a-tron, I explained how it worked. Then I had to recreate the magic.

I pull vegetables out onto my hand, allowing her to inspect them herself. “You agree these are vegetables?”

“Yes…” my client scrunched up her nose. “Definitely.”

“Then watch me transform them.”

Opening the door, I pull out the box, placing veggies inside. Bump, twist, bump. I slowly shifted to the other side of the machine, took the box, and placed it in front of my sister.

“Candy!” My sister held sweets in her hands, looking up at me in disbelief. “You did it! I love it!”

The Sweets-a-tron, any kid’s dream, really was too good to be true. My seven-year-old self didn’t have the capability to turn vegetables into candy, but I could create the illusion of it.

My first ever product design, despite the simple logistics, amateur name, and young client, was a success. The process of creating something exciting to share had captured me. With my little sister, sharing my creativity and what really mattered to me came as easily as breathing. I would go on to create many “machines” and “sell” them to my little sister, each one ending in a stronger bond between us and fueling my motivation to keep going. Half of the sweet feeling was changing her mind and the other half was already knowing she believed in me and whatever I made. 

When I contribute to the FMWire, or think about pursuing business in the future, I’m swept back to the Sweets-a-tron and the feeling of sharing what I create, and I will continue to do it throughout my senior year.