I guess reading the thread by subspace on why he hates the peanut, made me a bit nostalgic and thinking back to my old man.
Now, my old man was a real piece of work, and it seemed like he specialized in making do with what seemed like a tiny tool that most of us would think too small for the task. He loved showing me up in a fatherly way, and I think I learned a lot from him like this. Like how to make a sandwich with a peanut.
I had taken him fishing down by the river this time, like usual in my little '66 VW. We had the fishing gear in the back seat, and dad gets in and looks all around. By now, I'm used to him knocking my bug, and I pre-emt him by telling him not to bother looking for the big key, I've already wound up the rubber bands real good. He replies in that dry wit, "Okay, just checking."
We get to the river, and have a nice time fishing some, talking some, and it's getting to lunch time. Dad was one of those old timers who didn't like pre-made sandwiches, said they loose something, even if they don't get soggy. I watch as he takes out a Kaiser roll from his canvas carry bag, and a couple of plastic wrapped Italian sausages, and a packet of mustard. Then he takes out his peanut. I'm looking at this big Kaiser roll, and I offer him my Eye-Brand large sodbuster, since this was during my sodbuster stage.
"I don't need a folding machete to make a sandwich, son." was all he said. So I watch and learn.
The old man takes his little peanut and plunges it into the roll, right up to the bolster. Carefully he saws around the outer circumference of the roll till he gets back to where he starts. I know he's not all the way through the roll, as it a good 5 or 6 inches, and he's got a 2 inch blade. But he's not done.
Taking the roll in both hands, he gently twists the two halves of the roll in different directions, like opening an Oreo cookie. The roll breaks in half leaving a little tuft of roll in the middle.
"That's called finesse, boy." is all he says.
He takes his peanut and slices the two big Italian sausages down their length, then in half, and carefully lays them on one half of the Kaiser. Picks up the mustard pack and slices off one corner. Now I know the old man keeps his knife sharp, but I swear I didn't think the blade even touched the plastic mustard pack, but the corner just jumped off rather than face that sharp little blade. Just kidding, sort of. The old man takes a bite of his sausage sandwich and smiles. He looks over at me still holding the big soddie and asks, "Now what were you gonna do with that thing?"
"Nothing, Dad. Not a darn thing." was all I could say.
Sometimes I wondered if dad was Yoda in disguise.
Now, my old man was a real piece of work, and it seemed like he specialized in making do with what seemed like a tiny tool that most of us would think too small for the task. He loved showing me up in a fatherly way, and I think I learned a lot from him like this. Like how to make a sandwich with a peanut.
I had taken him fishing down by the river this time, like usual in my little '66 VW. We had the fishing gear in the back seat, and dad gets in and looks all around. By now, I'm used to him knocking my bug, and I pre-emt him by telling him not to bother looking for the big key, I've already wound up the rubber bands real good. He replies in that dry wit, "Okay, just checking."
We get to the river, and have a nice time fishing some, talking some, and it's getting to lunch time. Dad was one of those old timers who didn't like pre-made sandwiches, said they loose something, even if they don't get soggy. I watch as he takes out a Kaiser roll from his canvas carry bag, and a couple of plastic wrapped Italian sausages, and a packet of mustard. Then he takes out his peanut. I'm looking at this big Kaiser roll, and I offer him my Eye-Brand large sodbuster, since this was during my sodbuster stage.
"I don't need a folding machete to make a sandwich, son." was all he said. So I watch and learn.
The old man takes his little peanut and plunges it into the roll, right up to the bolster. Carefully he saws around the outer circumference of the roll till he gets back to where he starts. I know he's not all the way through the roll, as it a good 5 or 6 inches, and he's got a 2 inch blade. But he's not done.
Taking the roll in both hands, he gently twists the two halves of the roll in different directions, like opening an Oreo cookie. The roll breaks in half leaving a little tuft of roll in the middle.
"That's called finesse, boy." is all he says.
He takes his peanut and slices the two big Italian sausages down their length, then in half, and carefully lays them on one half of the Kaiser. Picks up the mustard pack and slices off one corner. Now I know the old man keeps his knife sharp, but I swear I didn't think the blade even touched the plastic mustard pack, but the corner just jumped off rather than face that sharp little blade. Just kidding, sort of. The old man takes a bite of his sausage sandwich and smiles. He looks over at me still holding the big soddie and asks, "Now what were you gonna do with that thing?"
"Nothing, Dad. Not a darn thing." was all I could say.
Sometimes I wondered if dad was Yoda in disguise.
