The follow is a post featured on Make's Substack:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2FBO1C6M2Bc

A video that received far more airtime in our house than I would like to admit this past summer, was a 2014 Make: video showcasing a dad’s home-built rocket playhouse for his two boys. My four-year-old son was obsessed with it. Again and again, he wanted to study every detail of the project, marvel at the fabulous control panel, and always end with the same question: “Dad, when are we building ours?”

You see my son shares my love of making, and we spend countless hours “inventing” spaceships and lasers out of Lego, blocks, or whatever we can get our hands on. Seeing those maker traits begin to blossom, I’ve shown him the movies that inspired me: Apollo 13, Back to the Future, and others. I see in him that same spark I’ve always had and so who was I to disappoint him by not building a rocket?

After sketching out several ideas in my notebook — as much as I’m a techie, brainstorming is still best as an analog process for me — and reviewing the concept with both my son and my wife to gain her tacit approval, we set out to build. (She manages to be both incredibly enthusiastic about, and patient with, my and now my son’s ever-growing flights of weekend project fantasy.) There was much I loved about the original, but in my version I chose to iterate and interpret in a few key ways.

Rocket ship sketches.

First, rather than constructing a highly literal rocket shape, I followed a design principle from architecture known as the “decorated shed.” The idea is simple: if something is meant to resemble a specific object — say, a duck — you can either replicate that form exactly, embracing all the complexity that comes with it, or you can build a straightforward structure and use surface details to evoke the same feeling. My design leaned firmly toward the decorated shed: two basic geometric forms, easy to construct from stock lumber, enhanced with details that suggest a rocket ready to reach orbit.

Second, because the project would live in a generous corner of our basement playroom, I allowed the scale to grow slightly beyond the original. The added size created room for a second level of play, should extend the life of the playhouse as our boys grow, and made it a little less awkward for adults to climb in and out during missions.

Third, after building a few electronic gizmos for my son, I’ve come to appreciate the diminishing returns of painstakingly soldering a hyper-complex control panel. For this build, I focused instead on quality and gameplay rather than sheer volume of knobs and switches.

Building the frame.

Construction was, quite literally, a blast. My son spent much of the build in the garage with me, sharing elaborate plans for the rocket and serving as job foreman while I dutifully cut, assembled, and painted in the summer Virginia heat. I approached the build in two phases: first constructing the basic carcass in the garage where dust and scrap piles were no concern, then transferring the frame in large sections to the basement for final assembly and detail work.

Like most projects, we came off the starting line fast and I was able to get the basic structure cut and assembled in the basement in just a few days. The basic frame and a few side panels were impressive, but it wasn’t a rocket yet. With projects like this, those first major steps of assembly have the most promise and are the most exciting as you see your creation literally take shape before you, but that long tail of detail work can grind you to a halt. However pushing me through, for better or for worse, were my son’s constant inquiries of “when will it be done?” “Soon, buddy. Hopefully soon.” Pressing on was a challenge at times but eventually, the dust settled and the rocket structure was ready. The moment I saw the entire interior freshly furnished with its moving blanket walls, I realized this creation was no longer a simple wooden structure. It was now truly a rocketship.

While the basic frame and structure are within reach for anyone with fundamental carpentry skills and off-the-shelf tools, I fabricated several specialized components using more advanced, quasi-industrial equipment at my community makerspace, Makersmiths, in Leesburg, Virginia. Access to a large laser cutter, UV printer, and a high-end vinyl cutter allowed me to produce precision openings, a realistic control panel, and a bold NASA decal for the exterior.

Makerspace tools put to good use.

Tools like these are often out of reach for hobbyists due to their size and cost, but a community makerspace with this equipment moves once-unattainable projects firmly into the realm of the possible. Making is often a solitary way to express creativity and care for others, yet a makerspace expands that experience entirely. Being surrounded by innovators, artists, builders, and tinkerers in a shared “third space” where ideas constantly circulate continues to fuel my own desire to create and grow.

The control panel reflects that same balance between simplicity and experience. While I reduced the wiring complexity compared to the original inspiration, I kept my favorite feature: immersive audio. Using an Adafruit soundboard, a small amplifier, and a bass shaker, the panel plays real audio from the Freedom 7 and Apollo 11 missions along with Apollo 13 movie audio clips, including, of course, the classic “Houston, we have a problem.”

To enhance the impact, I edited the recordings in Audacity and layered in additional low-frequency rumble and explosion effects. When the Apollo 11 launch sequence plays now, the entire rocket vibrates with convincing force and my son, along with anyone who hasn’t experienced the full spectacle of this project, squeals with excitement.

The installed control panel.

From the moment my pen first touched my notebook to the instant our son climbed inside and pressed the launch button, just over a month had passed. But the finished rocket isn’t really about the wood, the laser-cut panels, or even the rumbling bass shaker hidden behind the controls. What matters most is that it became a place where imagination takes over. It’s a launchpad in the corner of a basement where countdowns happen daily and missions to the Moon somehow conclude just in time for bed.

Rocket ship interior.

When I showed the finished rocket to my own parents and explained that Jack simply wanted a rocket playhouse of his own, my dad smiled and said, “Yeah, so did I when I was a boy, but not many kids have a dad who can actually make one.”

Like most projects built for kids, it isn’t perfect. Some trim doesn’t quite line up, the hatch window has already endured a few hard landings, and there are still upgrades I’d love to add someday. My son and I occasionally brainstorm what version two might include. None of those imperfections seem to matter, though, when a four-year-old climbs inside, flips a switch, and very seriously announces that liftoff is imminent. He even takes to his own devices and often adds on pieces to the spaceship with pillows and blankets and anything else he can lift in his playroom. Nothing stops a maker.

Projects like this remind us why many of us started making things in the first place. It’s not because we needed a rocket ship in the basement, but because building something a little unreasonable, especially with and for the people we love, creates memories that last far longer than the materials themselves. What’s even better here is seeing that spirit come alive in my son. My wife and I marvel at the creative and often wacky ideas he brings to life, and it further feeds my own passion to keep building.

If you’d like to see the full journey from sketchbook to launch sequence, you can watch the complete build on my channel, John Builds Things. And if it inspires you to build something wildly unnecessary of your own, even better.

Every good mission starts with someone saying, “Why not?”