The boy loved spending time with his grandpa. He thought no vacation in the world could be equal to being with the white haired old man who seemed to know so much about all things important. The old man was his maternal grandfather, and his mother got her husband to go along with letting the boy spend his summer vacation down on the old farm.
The boy grew to worship the old man. He listened with rapt attention to how a proper sight picture should look on the old .22 rifle they shot together. The boy watched carefully how the old man fixed things with what was in his pockets. A bit of twine, or a few inches of the black electrical tape from what was wrapped around a stub of a pencil in his pocket. But most of all was the knife.
The boy didn't know anyone in his city life who carried a knife. His father was a government office worker, and didn't even own a knife. He'd just use a car key to saw and rip open packages. Or maybe use a pen to punch holes in a box so it can be torn open. By comparison, his grandpa looked so smoothly competent when he would take out his little brown handle pen knife and neatly slit open what he wanted to open. The young boy was captivated by the pocket knife. It was a experience to remember when his granddad handed him the knife and showed him how to cut with it, always keeping the blade going away from him.
The boy ran his hands over the smooth brown wood handles with the black streaks running through the grain. The thin carbon steel blades were a grey color from years of use. To the boy it seemed a magical cutting tool. At the base of the blade was the name Boker stamped into the steel. To the boy, Arthur's Excaliber would have paled to insignificance besides grandpa's pocket knife.
The boy made up his mind to be just like the old man. He took stock of the keychain tools the old man kept on his keyring. A round keychain screwdriver, a P-38 can opener that the old man seemed to find many uses for. A small flashlight. An old small nail clipper. A stub of a pencil for making notes that had a wrapping of black tape around it.
"Granddad, when did you start carrying all that stuff?" the boy asked one day.
"Oh, way back when I was a pup like you. Times were a bit hard then, and we didn't have much money around. We had to get by best we could with just what we had." the old man said. "We had to learn to patch up things instead of tossing them out on the trash pile. Plus my old daddy used to say 'There's two kinds of people in the world. There's the prepared, and the unprepared.' I guess some people like to be ready for those little unexpected emergencies. Sometimes you just need a little bit of sharp tool."
"Did you need a knife every day then?"
"Yeah, I guess I did. That old .22 rifle you been learning to shoot on was my daddy's gun. I'd take it out to get some dinner many times. Rabbit, squirrel for the stew pot. Also had some bush bobs down along the river to put fish in the pan as well. A good sharp knife was almighty important then. But it still is." The old man told him.
"Is that why my dad doesn't have a knife, he lived in a city and didn't hunt?" asked the boy.
The old man thought carefully for a bit before speaking.
"Well, maybe he don't carry a knife because of some reason, but just because you don't hunt don't mean you don't carry a knife. Why, there's men who live in a city that carry and use a knife everyday. A knife is just a tool to make life a little easier. It's man's oldest tool. Why a half a million years ago, some ancient ancestor of man picked up a piece of sharp rock, or a jaw from an animal, and cut into something to eat. Man's use of tools is what let him rise from the other animals."
"Then why don't my dad have a pocket knife? " asked the boy.
"Hmmm," the old man made a sound, " I don't rightly know, pup. We sent our little girl off to college, and next thing we hear is how she's got this young fella courtin her. By the time she comes home, they's talkin' about how they're gonna get hitched. Your daddy and our girl. He didn't carry a knife then either, I know 'cause I took him fishing down by he river to get to know him some. I had to show him how to fish. I just don't know why he never carried a knife. Those kind of folks have always been a mystery to me. I even gave him a knife years ago. My daughter says it's in his sock drawer." The old man made another sound.
"I want to be like you, grandpa. I want to carry a knife like you do." said the boy.
The old man looked at the boy for some long seconds.
"Okay." was all he said.
The next day the old man and the boy went into town. There in the general store, in the fishing and hunting section, they carefully looked over the knives on display. The Boy pointed at one that was of the same layout as his grandpa's knife. Two blades, one at each end with a single back spring. A penknife.
"That's one like you have, sort of. Why do you like that style, grandpa?
"I like that it has two blades, but with only one backspring, it's thin and light enough to drop in a pocket and forget abut till you need it. Nice and compact and light."
"Then that's what I want, too." said the boy.
Over the next few weeks the boy used his new knife on many of the chores he helped with around the farm. He got to know how to use it, but most importantly, how not to use it. The old man supervised the boy with care, and there was no lost fingers. One little cut, but it was a learning experience the boy would remember. The boy learned to clean the fish he caught using the little pen knife.
Then the summer was ending, and it was time to go home. The boy left his knife with his grandpa, for safe keeping of course. It was to be their secret, the boy's father not knowing anything about the knife. It would be there for the boy to have next visit.
"Don't you worry pup. I'll keep it safe till you get back here. Scouts honor!"
"When can I come back, grandpa?"
"Anytime you want, boy. If you're old man don't want to drive down here, I'll come up and get you."
Then the old man bent down and hugged the boy, who hugged him back with all his strength.
"I love you grandpa!"
"I love you too, pup!"
The house seemed empty afterward, and the old man went into the kitchen. He looked at the calender on the wall, then lifted up a page to see the next month.
"Fall dove season's not that many weeks away." he muttered to himself. He thought of the old 20 gauge shotgun in the pantry, and how it just may fit the boy with an inch cut off the stock.
The boy grew to worship the old man. He listened with rapt attention to how a proper sight picture should look on the old .22 rifle they shot together. The boy watched carefully how the old man fixed things with what was in his pockets. A bit of twine, or a few inches of the black electrical tape from what was wrapped around a stub of a pencil in his pocket. But most of all was the knife.
The boy didn't know anyone in his city life who carried a knife. His father was a government office worker, and didn't even own a knife. He'd just use a car key to saw and rip open packages. Or maybe use a pen to punch holes in a box so it can be torn open. By comparison, his grandpa looked so smoothly competent when he would take out his little brown handle pen knife and neatly slit open what he wanted to open. The young boy was captivated by the pocket knife. It was a experience to remember when his granddad handed him the knife and showed him how to cut with it, always keeping the blade going away from him.
The boy ran his hands over the smooth brown wood handles with the black streaks running through the grain. The thin carbon steel blades were a grey color from years of use. To the boy it seemed a magical cutting tool. At the base of the blade was the name Boker stamped into the steel. To the boy, Arthur's Excaliber would have paled to insignificance besides grandpa's pocket knife.
The boy made up his mind to be just like the old man. He took stock of the keychain tools the old man kept on his keyring. A round keychain screwdriver, a P-38 can opener that the old man seemed to find many uses for. A small flashlight. An old small nail clipper. A stub of a pencil for making notes that had a wrapping of black tape around it.
"Granddad, when did you start carrying all that stuff?" the boy asked one day.
"Oh, way back when I was a pup like you. Times were a bit hard then, and we didn't have much money around. We had to get by best we could with just what we had." the old man said. "We had to learn to patch up things instead of tossing them out on the trash pile. Plus my old daddy used to say 'There's two kinds of people in the world. There's the prepared, and the unprepared.' I guess some people like to be ready for those little unexpected emergencies. Sometimes you just need a little bit of sharp tool."
"Did you need a knife every day then?"
"Yeah, I guess I did. That old .22 rifle you been learning to shoot on was my daddy's gun. I'd take it out to get some dinner many times. Rabbit, squirrel for the stew pot. Also had some bush bobs down along the river to put fish in the pan as well. A good sharp knife was almighty important then. But it still is." The old man told him.
"Is that why my dad doesn't have a knife, he lived in a city and didn't hunt?" asked the boy.
The old man thought carefully for a bit before speaking.
"Well, maybe he don't carry a knife because of some reason, but just because you don't hunt don't mean you don't carry a knife. Why, there's men who live in a city that carry and use a knife everyday. A knife is just a tool to make life a little easier. It's man's oldest tool. Why a half a million years ago, some ancient ancestor of man picked up a piece of sharp rock, or a jaw from an animal, and cut into something to eat. Man's use of tools is what let him rise from the other animals."
"Then why don't my dad have a pocket knife? " asked the boy.
"Hmmm," the old man made a sound, " I don't rightly know, pup. We sent our little girl off to college, and next thing we hear is how she's got this young fella courtin her. By the time she comes home, they's talkin' about how they're gonna get hitched. Your daddy and our girl. He didn't carry a knife then either, I know 'cause I took him fishing down by he river to get to know him some. I had to show him how to fish. I just don't know why he never carried a knife. Those kind of folks have always been a mystery to me. I even gave him a knife years ago. My daughter says it's in his sock drawer." The old man made another sound.
"I want to be like you, grandpa. I want to carry a knife like you do." said the boy.
The old man looked at the boy for some long seconds.
"Okay." was all he said.
The next day the old man and the boy went into town. There in the general store, in the fishing and hunting section, they carefully looked over the knives on display. The Boy pointed at one that was of the same layout as his grandpa's knife. Two blades, one at each end with a single back spring. A penknife.
"That's one like you have, sort of. Why do you like that style, grandpa?
"I like that it has two blades, but with only one backspring, it's thin and light enough to drop in a pocket and forget abut till you need it. Nice and compact and light."
"Then that's what I want, too." said the boy.
Over the next few weeks the boy used his new knife on many of the chores he helped with around the farm. He got to know how to use it, but most importantly, how not to use it. The old man supervised the boy with care, and there was no lost fingers. One little cut, but it was a learning experience the boy would remember. The boy learned to clean the fish he caught using the little pen knife.
Then the summer was ending, and it was time to go home. The boy left his knife with his grandpa, for safe keeping of course. It was to be their secret, the boy's father not knowing anything about the knife. It would be there for the boy to have next visit.
"Don't you worry pup. I'll keep it safe till you get back here. Scouts honor!"
"When can I come back, grandpa?"
"Anytime you want, boy. If you're old man don't want to drive down here, I'll come up and get you."
Then the old man bent down and hugged the boy, who hugged him back with all his strength.
"I love you grandpa!"
"I love you too, pup!"
The house seemed empty afterward, and the old man went into the kitchen. He looked at the calender on the wall, then lifted up a page to see the next month.
"Fall dove season's not that many weeks away." he muttered to himself. He thought of the old 20 gauge shotgun in the pantry, and how it just may fit the boy with an inch cut off the stock.
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