Artifacts of Youth
The screen door opened. My father unexpectedly emerged from
the house and sat next to me on the narrow front step. He didn't speak.
In his hand was a battered old pocket knife. The badly tarnished ends
of the knife framed the heavily textured black plastic sides. He opened
the longer blade and ran his finger back and forth along the tapered
edge as he pondered some unknown mystery.
He turned and looked at last into the eyes of an eager seven year old
boy who hung on every last word his dad hadn't spoken yet. My father
started, then hesitated. Finally, he gripped the blade of the extended
knife and passed the handle to me. I sat in awe for a moment, not
certain this was real. I extended my small hand to accept the knife
half expecting the offer to be withdrawn. It wasn't.
"It's yours", he said. "I expect you to take care of it, and be careful
with it. Do you remember all the rules we talked about?"
"Yeah," I said confidently now beginning to beam a bit. "Never walk
with the knife open; always cut away from you..." the mantra went on.
Heck, I knew this stuff cold. As I continued reciting rules, "Be
careful not to close the blade on your fingers," my smile broadened
until it fairly well covered my face. I knew this was my time. In a few
minutes I would be completing my first rite of manhood. I'd have a
pocket knife of my very own, to carry always and everywhere.
Men and tools have had a special bond throughout history. Since early
man first realized his club was good for cracking walnuts and banging
out proto rock-n-roll rhythms man has been searching for the ultimate
multi-purpose tool.
This was a standard rite of passage in my family. Every man carried a
pocket knife, not as a weapon, but as a tool. The pocket knife was not
about violence or pain, but about the power to heal. I had seen my
father remove slivers from fingers, fix my toys, rewire a lamp, and
make adjustments to the car all with a little ingenuity and a pocket
sized all-in-one tool.
It has been observed that very few species of animal are able to make
and use tools. As far as I know man has the distinction of being the
only species to invent multiple attachments and pockets.
I carried that knife for years, and have carried many others
since. I only realized recently that I'd lost that original
knife somewhere along the way. I thought it would be special
to pass it on to my son, but that artifact of my youth is gone.
Nonetheless, there will be knives and tools and lessons to pass on to
my sons. After all, tools are to be used not enshrined. They
are lost, they break, they wear, and that is part of the lesson; part
of the charm; part of the bond.
