The Izaak Walton League I belong to has a rule, that all new members have in thier first probationary year a work obligation to help out around the place. This past Monday being a holiday there was some chores to do around the place and I had as a helper a nice young man named Josh. He seemed a typical 20 something kind of fellow. I put him to work with me restocking the clay birds launchers on the trap and skeet ranges. The boxes of birds were already stored in the range houses so all we had to do was reload the machines. Afterward there were boxes to be broken down for our recycle dumpster.
I knew I was going to be doing some work that day so I had my old somewhat beat up Case CV sodbuster with me. I told Josh we'd break down the boxes and I'd count the day off as his work obligation. We had a pile to do and we set to it. I told him all we had to do was run a knife down the edges of the boxes to flatten them out to layer up in the dumpster. I started out and ran my knife down and showed him how and we got to it. I had touched up the soddie just before I left the house knowing it was to be used. I know that you all know that nice whisper sound and feeling of a thin sharp blade slicing effortlessly through something. I had got a few boxes done and I became aware of Josh having a bit of a hard time. I guess I had made the presumstion Josh had a sharp knife. I had seen him take out a well known brand of black one hand folder, but he seemed to have some trouble getting it to slice the cardboard. It was pulling and tearing its way through, making him work at it.
I really did not want to say anything, but I saw him glance over at me a couple of times. I stopped and asked him if he wanted to borrow my pocket hone I keep in my wallet. He hesitated and then handed me his knife and asked if I thought it needed it. His knife did not feel like it was really dull, but it just had one of those thick blades with the full thickness going down for half the width of the blade making an abrupt angle for the cutting edge. I loaned him my knife and told him if he cuts, I'll take and stack up the cut ones in the recycle dumpster. Josh took my sodbuster and made a cut just as I was gathering up a pile of knocked down boxes. he made a noise of surprise and I gathered he'd never used a sharp knife before. I went and dumped the cardboard, and by the time I got back Josh had another armfull for me. We got a good relay going, him cutting and me carrying. We got the job done in very short time. When I came back from dumping the last load he was looking at my knife closely. He had alot of questions for me as to why it cut so good for an old fashioned knife, and was'nt I afraid to use a knife with no lock on the blade.
We sat down at the picnic table and I explained about traditional pocket knives and thin blades. He listened very attentively, and I realized that he knew nothing about knives at all. I asked him if his dad had ever shown him how to use a pocket knife and he told me his parrents had divorced when he was young, and his dad was not around much. I further relized that there had been no traditional upbringing for this young man. I had some change in my pocket so we had a couple of cold cokes on a mild almost balmy day and we talked about knives, and guns. He was about as much a babe in the woods on guns as knives. Most, if not all he knew, came out of the magazines.
Nobody in his family was into knives or guns, but sometime in middle school this typical suburban mall kid had become interested in them. I felt kind of sorry for him and I tried to imagine if I had not had my dad and grandad growing up to help me out. He was like a dried sponge, wanting to soak up anything he could. That was why he was at the club, wanting to learn to shoot. We got our rifles out of the vehicles and did some shooting. Josh had bought a black rifle that the guys at the gunshop had told him was the greatest thing since gunpowder, and it had to be sighted in. By that time he had used up almost half of the ammo he had for it. On paper I showed him sight picture, and tought him breath control, and trigger squeeze. He was'nt really a bad shot, he had not had the time to build bad habits. The couple boxes of .223 ammo went quick and he was done for the day. I took Miss Marlin out of her case to do some shooting of my own.
Miss Marlin and I had been together for a bit over forty years now. Theres been other guns that came and went, but she's been a steady. Now that I've downsized, that Marlin is a regular shooter. I like to put unbroken clay birds out on the 50 and 75 yard berms to shoot at, and then try to clean off the pieces. I let Josh take shots with the .22 and again he expressed great surprise at how accurite and fun it was. He asked how much ammo was, and I told him that 550 round box sitting there was 9 bucks at the 'mart. He glanced a little sadly at the couple emty boxes of .223's that had cost him many times that for a fraction of the cost. The idiots at the gun shop had steered him to an expensive tactical rifle knowing the kid had never even shot a .22 rifle in his life. I felt a brief surge of anger at both the gun shop guys and his absent father. Even though he somehow developed an interest, there had been no BB or pellet guns in his childhood or .22's in his adolesence. We set out some more clay birds and plinked away the afternoon with the .22 Marlin. Josh had a ball and I coached him all I could. His shooting improved steadily.
The afternoon waned and the bulk box of Federals was empty. I wiped off the Marlin with a rag from the shooting bag and slid it back in the case while Josh would ask questions. He seemed almost desparate for more information and I fiddled with my pipe and I said to myself "Oh hell" because I knew what I had to do. I asked Josh if he was hungry and he ended up comming home with me for one of Karens home cooked dinners. I called her on the way home and gave her a heads up on the whole situation and she told me to bring him home by all means. My daughter and grandkids were there with my younger boy Matt, and it was a crowded table, but the meatloaf and mashed potatos and geen beans made the stretch. Matt had stopped by after his shift, and was still in his police uniform, and we talked about guns, knives, and Josh learned. It was like he could'nt get enough. My cigar box of old pocket knives were brought out so he could learn a stockman from a barlow. I think someplace durring the evening my family adoptd him, because when he finally left after 8PM, Karen says to me, " So, we're raising another one?"
I knew I was going to be doing some work that day so I had my old somewhat beat up Case CV sodbuster with me. I told Josh we'd break down the boxes and I'd count the day off as his work obligation. We had a pile to do and we set to it. I told him all we had to do was run a knife down the edges of the boxes to flatten them out to layer up in the dumpster. I started out and ran my knife down and showed him how and we got to it. I had touched up the soddie just before I left the house knowing it was to be used. I know that you all know that nice whisper sound and feeling of a thin sharp blade slicing effortlessly through something. I had got a few boxes done and I became aware of Josh having a bit of a hard time. I guess I had made the presumstion Josh had a sharp knife. I had seen him take out a well known brand of black one hand folder, but he seemed to have some trouble getting it to slice the cardboard. It was pulling and tearing its way through, making him work at it.
I really did not want to say anything, but I saw him glance over at me a couple of times. I stopped and asked him if he wanted to borrow my pocket hone I keep in my wallet. He hesitated and then handed me his knife and asked if I thought it needed it. His knife did not feel like it was really dull, but it just had one of those thick blades with the full thickness going down for half the width of the blade making an abrupt angle for the cutting edge. I loaned him my knife and told him if he cuts, I'll take and stack up the cut ones in the recycle dumpster. Josh took my sodbuster and made a cut just as I was gathering up a pile of knocked down boxes. he made a noise of surprise and I gathered he'd never used a sharp knife before. I went and dumped the cardboard, and by the time I got back Josh had another armfull for me. We got a good relay going, him cutting and me carrying. We got the job done in very short time. When I came back from dumping the last load he was looking at my knife closely. He had alot of questions for me as to why it cut so good for an old fashioned knife, and was'nt I afraid to use a knife with no lock on the blade.
We sat down at the picnic table and I explained about traditional pocket knives and thin blades. He listened very attentively, and I realized that he knew nothing about knives at all. I asked him if his dad had ever shown him how to use a pocket knife and he told me his parrents had divorced when he was young, and his dad was not around much. I further relized that there had been no traditional upbringing for this young man. I had some change in my pocket so we had a couple of cold cokes on a mild almost balmy day and we talked about knives, and guns. He was about as much a babe in the woods on guns as knives. Most, if not all he knew, came out of the magazines.
Nobody in his family was into knives or guns, but sometime in middle school this typical suburban mall kid had become interested in them. I felt kind of sorry for him and I tried to imagine if I had not had my dad and grandad growing up to help me out. He was like a dried sponge, wanting to soak up anything he could. That was why he was at the club, wanting to learn to shoot. We got our rifles out of the vehicles and did some shooting. Josh had bought a black rifle that the guys at the gunshop had told him was the greatest thing since gunpowder, and it had to be sighted in. By that time he had used up almost half of the ammo he had for it. On paper I showed him sight picture, and tought him breath control, and trigger squeeze. He was'nt really a bad shot, he had not had the time to build bad habits. The couple boxes of .223 ammo went quick and he was done for the day. I took Miss Marlin out of her case to do some shooting of my own.
Miss Marlin and I had been together for a bit over forty years now. Theres been other guns that came and went, but she's been a steady. Now that I've downsized, that Marlin is a regular shooter. I like to put unbroken clay birds out on the 50 and 75 yard berms to shoot at, and then try to clean off the pieces. I let Josh take shots with the .22 and again he expressed great surprise at how accurite and fun it was. He asked how much ammo was, and I told him that 550 round box sitting there was 9 bucks at the 'mart. He glanced a little sadly at the couple emty boxes of .223's that had cost him many times that for a fraction of the cost. The idiots at the gun shop had steered him to an expensive tactical rifle knowing the kid had never even shot a .22 rifle in his life. I felt a brief surge of anger at both the gun shop guys and his absent father. Even though he somehow developed an interest, there had been no BB or pellet guns in his childhood or .22's in his adolesence. We set out some more clay birds and plinked away the afternoon with the .22 Marlin. Josh had a ball and I coached him all I could. His shooting improved steadily.
The afternoon waned and the bulk box of Federals was empty. I wiped off the Marlin with a rag from the shooting bag and slid it back in the case while Josh would ask questions. He seemed almost desparate for more information and I fiddled with my pipe and I said to myself "Oh hell" because I knew what I had to do. I asked Josh if he was hungry and he ended up comming home with me for one of Karens home cooked dinners. I called her on the way home and gave her a heads up on the whole situation and she told me to bring him home by all means. My daughter and grandkids were there with my younger boy Matt, and it was a crowded table, but the meatloaf and mashed potatos and geen beans made the stretch. Matt had stopped by after his shift, and was still in his police uniform, and we talked about guns, knives, and Josh learned. It was like he could'nt get enough. My cigar box of old pocket knives were brought out so he could learn a stockman from a barlow. I think someplace durring the evening my family adoptd him, because when he finally left after 8PM, Karen says to me, " So, we're raising another one?"
