Pocketknives For
Men And Boys
For
most of my life, I’ve kept a pocketknife. Usually
such is found in my pocket, but old ones may be in a drawer, while a
collector’s pocketknife may be found in my roll top desk.
Pocketknives and boys may represent a bygone era, what with all the zero
tolerance laws for weapons in public schools, but there was a time when a
boy with a pocketknife at school was as common as a boy with a CD in his
backpack is today. Boys deprived of the right to carry a pocketknife to school
seems almost un-American to those of us who did so just a generation or two
ago.
To be sure, a few folks of my generation packed a switchblade knife, but
that was mostly for show or intimidation. I don’t ever remember a knife
fight happening on school property. Back then, parents didn’t depend
upon the schools to discipline their children, so a boy who got into trouble
at school was likely to face more trouble at home. The possibility of being
punished twice (school and home) was sufficient deterrent for most of us
to behave at school.
My dad had a pocketknife and so did his dad. Maybe, it was our agrarian roots.
Both men and boys once needed a knife. Boys played games like mumblety-peg
(we called it mumbly-peg) with a pocketknife, and cut twine or rope for all
the things boys need twine or rope to bind or fasten. Some men kept a pocketknife
in order to cut a plug of tobacco, while others liked to whittle, purposefully
or idly, on a limb or piece of wood. Some trimmed and cleaned their fingernails
with their pocketknife and some pared apples or other fruit to enjoy at the
moment. And, when fresh molasses were being peddled, a customer’s knife
blade hastily wiped on the leg of a pair of trousers was the perfect implement
to pry off the bucket lid and taste a new batch of sorghum molasses.
Once upon a time, the streets of downtown Pontotoc were as busy on a Saturday
as those at the Mall At Barnes Crossing in Tupelo are on any given Saturday
today. Saturday was the day when practically everyone in the county came
to town. There was only so much horse trading, sight seeing, and shopping
that one could do on a given Saturday and most had finished whatever their
business was for being in town long before it was time to head back home.
It was only natural in such an environment for some men to trade or swap
pocketknives, as practically everyone had a knife. For some, "knife trading"
was an exercise in bartering, and many were quite good at it. How it came
about that everyone felt he had gotten the better bargain, I don’t know,
but those who traded knives always traded up.
Boys and men still need pocketknives, though I suspect the ratio of knives
to the population of boys and men today is far less than that of yesteryear.
Blame it on the school boards, the exodus of men and boys from the farm,
or something else, but one thing’s for sure, there’s fewer knives
in pockets than there once was.
I’ve carried a pocketknife for so long, I can’t imagine being without
one. Over the years, my need for having one has changed, and these days I
still rely on a pocketknife to cut the ribbons off Christmas and birthday
presents, slit the taped edges of a gift box, neatly open a card or letter,
open boxes at work, and occasionally pull a shelf label out of the price
channel at a retail grocery store.
I carry a small, lightweight Buck knife, and it’s the smallest one they
make, I believe. It’s so small I keep a set of nail clippers chained
to it so that I don’t accidentally rake the knife out of my pocket
unnoticed, while reaching for a set of car keys or house keys.
Several years ago, I lost my knife and nail clippers and had to buy new ones.
Later, I broke the tip off the blade of the new knife while trying to use
it as a screwdriver. Don’t lecture me, I knew better at the time, but
I was trying to "make do." The steel of a Buck knife is quite hard, and while
I tried to reshape the broken tip with a whetstone and file, I didn’t
have much luck. Last October, while I was stripping tags off shelves in
Wisconsin, I could have used a knife with a sharper tip, but I didn’t
want to invest the twenty-dollars in a new knife when my old knife worked
well enough for the things I needed most often.
About a month ago, I opened the top drawer of the chest in our master bedroom.
It’s something of a catchall drawer, as it’s not deep enough for
much more than one or two layers of underwear and is more suited to pins
and pens, batteries, marbles, crayons, old receipts, and other items that
should be discarded. At the moment, I can’t remember what I was looking
for, but my search had hardly begun when I spotted a Buck knife attached
to a pair of nail clippers with a black twist-tie. At first, it didn’t
dawn on me that I had found something I had lost years ago. I stood there
rather perplexed, wondering what had happened to the keychain and wondering
who had fastened the twist-tie. I remember thinking it looked strangely like
my own handiwork. In fact, I didn’t notice it being a long lost article,
until I opened the knife and saw the tip of the blade was not broken.
My instincts told me my daughter, probably, in one of her rearranging sprees,
swept the clippers and knife from the top of the dresser into the drawer,
but in all fairness, any of a number of suspects could have done the same
thing. Well, anyone except this writer…I would have remembered.
The nail clippers weren’t worth a hoot, but the knife was sharp as new.
I’ve since replaced what was then the knife in my pocket with the one
from the chest of drawers and have assigned the knife with the broken tip
a place near my Bible on the lower shelf of the bookcase. At the time this
is being written, I’m away from home, but when I get back to Pontotoc,
I think I’ll move the knife from the bookcase to the top drawer of the
dresser and see if I forget where I put it.
Reader
Awareness Observation Test
I have not polled very many folks, but of those I’ve asked not even
one has said he or she noticed the AIIEEEE included in the picture of the
Scrabble board on the front page of last week’s
Ridge Rider
News. Personally, I considered it to be the perfect complement
to the article. After all, the Scrabble game was mentioned, and I described
how I had once tried to fool my brother-in-law by using AIIEEEE in a long-ago
game of Scrabble. I figured if anyone glanced at the picture, while reading
the article, his or her eye would be drawn to the made-up word.
Perhaps, most folks were too busy reading to notice, or as in the case of
the better half of my brother-in-law…skipping over the articles to get
to the joke’s section. Actually Joyce denies doing so, but Gene likes
to kid her. He’s not picking on just her, either; he does that to everybody.
The picture
of the
Scrabble board was one I found on the Internet, not one I shot at home. After
choosing the picture, it occurred to me that it would be fun to use the AIIEEEE
word, once more, so I set about editing the picture by copying and pasting
small sections of the picture (Scrabble tiles, in this case) to produce the
desired effect.
The editing was not as hard as trying to correct the mistakes caused by inserting
the illegitimate word. I remember having to change DIATRIBE to DATABASE and
adjust three or four other words in order to make everything fit and to render
the changed words legitimate.
I spent less time editing the picture than in writing the article, but both
were fun projects. Now, if anyone read the article last week and also caught
the AIIEEEE in the Scrabble picture, before being told it was there, please
let me know. You may not win a prize, but those who didn’t notice it
will admire your powers of observation.
Note: After typing the above and trying to save it on my laptop PC,
the computer locked up. Fortunately, the text was still on the screen. Using
pen and paper, I had to transcribe the rough draft then reboot the computer
and type everything all over.
Bro. Joe At
Fifty-Nine Serving And Being Served
Brother Joe Steen is the closest soul I know to a monk. I don’t say
that to imply he’s a recluse, for he’s certainly not. Instead,
I equate his vow of poverty with certain vows of those whose religious dedication
draws them into a life of self-denial.
Those who volunteer their building skills to help Pontotoc County Habitat
for Humanity provide affordable housing for needy families are well acquainted
with Brother Joe Steen. Brother Joe is a member of the Glenmary Home Missioners
of the Catholic Church, and if sainthood could be attained through simply
serving one’s fellowman, then Brother Joe would already be Saint Joe.
Individuals who know him better than I do, tell me he sometimes allows the
burden of coordinating the efforts of hundreds of volunteers each year to
get him down. I’ve seen him rather run down from his labors but never
down emotionally or spiritually. In fact he’s one of the most cheerful
individuals I've ever met.
Reverend Ken Corley and his wife, Glenda, have maintained close ties to the
Habitat for Humanity affiliate in Pontotoc, though their ministry among our
Methodist brethren has taken them to nearby Water Valley, MS, where they
now reside. Personally, I’m ready for the Corleys to move back to Pontotoc,
permanently, and there’s a rumor circulating that they are planning
to do just that.
Glenda loves to cook and the hospitable nature she and Ken possess is the
perfect combination for entertaining, which they seem to do quite well and
sometimes on a grand scale. Glenda and Ken have a Christmas Open House, annually
on the first Sunday in December, wherever they call home that particular
year. The variety of foods available to their guests during the typical Open
House must number upwards of a hundred items, and it’s all homemade.
Having associated with one another for several years, Brother Joe and Glenda
maintain a friendly bit of sparring and pranking in which each one tries
to get the better of the other. I’ve heard stories of the iced Styrofoam
cake that Glenda gave Brother Joe one year, and the Hostess Cupcake Brother
Joe presented Glenda last year. Glenda saved that cake and sat it on top
of the real birthday cake she made for Brother Joe this year.
My family has fooled me on a few occasions where my birthday was celebrated
on a day other than my date of birth. Apparently, Brother Joe has the same
problem, as he didn’t suspect a thing when Ken and Glenda invited him
for lunch on the Sunday following his Friday birthday.
Even after he showed up for lunch and was told the Corleys were expecting
others, he figured they were referring to the church’s Minister of Youth,
who is unmarried and about to enter Law School. In fact, when Barbara and
I pulled into the driveway, Brother Joe assumed we were the company the Corleys
were expecting. It was only after we walked in the backdoor that he began
to suspect a surprise birthday might be in his immediate future.
Shortly after Barbara and I arrived, Wadelo and Mary Jane Waldrop of Pontotoc,
followed by Ken Jackson and John Grant of Endville all arrived to help celebrate
Brother Joe’s fifty-ninth birthday. Apart from me, all of the above
are dedicated volunteers for the Pontotoc Affiliate for Habitat for Humanity.
As spouse of the Director of the affiliate, I get to tag along. The Minister
of Youth arrived about the time we all were seated for the meal.
I won't detail the entire meal, but there were three meat dishes accompanied
by five or more vegetables, a variety of beverages, birthday cake, and some
of the best tasting rolls I've ever eaten. Every bite of everything was
delicious, but the rolls were my favorite. A family serving of the rolls
made it back to my house and were enjoyed at our evening meal.
With any luck, Brother Joe will have a birthday next April, the Corleys will
invite him to lunch, and if I play my cards right, I'll get invited back
for the celebration.
Bodock Beau
Library Incident
The editor tells me, he's running a little behind in getting out this week's
newsletter. Maybe, when he gets caught up with his day job, he can get back
on schedule.
Librarian Upbraided
The new librarian decided that instead of checking out children's books by
writing the names of borrowers on the book cards herself, she would have
the youngsters sign their own names. She would then tell them they were signing
a "Contract" for returning the books on time.
Her first customer was a second grader, who looked surprised to see a new
librarian. He brought four books to the desk and shoved them across to the
librarian, giving her his name as he did so.
The librarian pushed the books back and told him to sign them out. The boy
laboriously printed his name on each book card and then handed them to her
with a look of utter disgust.
Before the librarian could even start her speech he said, scornfully, "That
other librarian we had could write."
Submitted by Larry Young
Holy Humor
1. There was a church that had problems with outsiders parking in its parking
lots, so they put up a sign: CHURCH CAR PARKING - FOR MEMBERS ONLY Trespassers
will be baptized!
2. "No God - No Peace. Know God - Know
Peace."
3. "Free Trip to heaven. Details
Inside!"
4. "Try our Sundays. They are better than Baskin
Robbins."
5. "Searching for a new look? Have your faith lifted here!"
6. An ad for one church has a picture of two hands holding stone tablets
on which the Ten Commandments are inscribed and a headline that reads, "For
fast, fast, fast relief, take two tablets."
7. When the restaurant next to another Church put out a big sign
with red letters that said, "Open Sundays," the church reciprocated with
its own message: "We are open on Sundays, too."
8. "People are like tea bags -- you have to put them in hot water
before you know how strong they are."
9. "Fight truth decay -- study the Bible
daily."
10. "Come work for the Lord. The work is hard, the hours are long
and the pay is low. But the retirement benefits are out of this
world!"
11. "It is unlikely there'll be a reduction in the wages of sin."
12. "Do not wait for the hearse to take you to church."
13. "If you're headed in the wrong direction, God allows U-turns."
14. "If you don't like the way you were born, try being born again."
15. "Looking at the way some people live, they ought to obtain eternal fire
insurance soon."
Blonde Explains Late Payment
Last year I replaced all the windows in my house with those expensive double-pane
energy efficient kind. But this week I got a call from the contractor complaining
that his work had been completed a whole year ago, and I had yet to pay for
them.
Boy oh boy, did we go around! Just because I'm blonde doesn't mean that I
am automatically stupid. So, I proceeded to tell him just what his fast talking
sales guy had told me last year... "that in one year the windows would pay
for themselves."
There was silence on the other end of the line, so I just hung up, and I
haven't heard back.
Guess I won that stupid argument.
Selections submitted by Ken Gaillard
Share this article with a friend.
Home
Copyright © 2000 - 2004 RRN
Online.
