May. 18, 2003 - 19:40 MDT

THE WONDERING JEW

Sharp

I can dimly remember Granny preparing vegatables for soup, paring potatoes and then slicing and dicing them, carrots, etc. Watching Momma slicing bread, such sure hands. I marveled over how things seemed to mysteriously part under the edge of the knife. Of course being, duly warned and not yet rebellious enough to disregard orders, I kept a safe distance from the events while watching in fascination.

Later on I watched an old man whittle on a piece of wood, just whittle it down to a tiny piece. I asked him, "Why did you whittle that wood down to nothing ?" He told me that he liked to see the wood curl from the edge of his sharp knife.

Watching wood being sawed, chisled or planed was interesting. However I wanted so much to be very close to the action and have in my own hand the Instrument Of Accomplishment.

My first close acquaintance with a knife was when the department store where Dad bought his clothes sent me a birthday card and invited me to choose a present. Stores, some of them back then would do so, I guess, in the hope of gaining a customer when the birthday boy grew up. I was taken in and maybe there were hundreds of things a boy could choose from, but there in front of my wide eyes was a Jackknife, bright and shiny, all new beckoning to me, "Here I am, the thing you have wanted so long." No question, I asked for it on my first sight of it, drooling a bit I suspect.

It went home in Mom's pocketbook and shortly after we arrived home and my begging became rather vociferous Momma gave it to me with the caution, "Wait 'til your Father gets home and he shows you how to use it." No need to tell what happened really, is there ? Out of Mom's sight I got my thumbnail in the groove and got the blade open halfway. Funny, after watching so closely the things that knives could do, I pressed my finger to the sharp side of the blade trying to open it all the way.

"Look Mama, what happened." A shriek, a grab, Mom placed my finger under running, cold water. It began to hurt and get uncomfortable as well as extremely cold. Seemed like I had been there for all eternity before my finger was taken from under the spigot and wrapped tightly in a clean handkerchief, later when the bleeding stopped a proper bandage was put on. I have been known to do other foolish things without heeding instructions but that indeed was a major boo boo.

It seemed like ages before Dad showed me about jackknives, precautions and the whole schmear. I whittled under his eye for awhile and for a longer time after he went in the house. Knowing that a cut would get the knife taken away permanently I used all care in whittling.

If the world had been all wood I guess maybe it would have been shaped as I wished, then, along with me standing in a pile of whittlings.

Gaining a bit of coordination I started trying to make things using my jackknife. First thing I remember was a model of a 45 automatic pistol - rough and ragged it was, but it was my baby. Then it was minature swords and knives which I made many in various shapes and lengths with fancy work on the hafts, a few became letter openers. Then my fancy focused on boats. Steamships, a sail boat model that had a whittled mast set into a hole I made - but all were solid wood though. Then my skill a improved a bit and I started carving rowboats and canoes. hollowed out with my knife. Of those I made quite a few before the lure of sand lot recreation became available to me, then ball games occupied me.

But, yet today I sometimes dream at night of being an accomplished neurosugeon. Having a precise and delicate hand doing miraculous work.

Later on in life saws, chisels and other edged tools came into my sphere of activity, but they were just a means to make something I wanted or needed. The accomplishments were satisfying buy not nearly so much as that first, little hollowed out canoe, with paper thin walls I carved.

I guess all boys are intrigued by things that are Sharp . . . . . . . . . . .

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