First, please read Deborah Robson's inspiring blog post here: On the sharpening of pencils!
My father was a man with many skills, among them wood working. Over the years he gave me some of his treasures, usually because I begged for them: a hammer, cutting pliers, a screw driver, a wood file, knives, another hammer... He let me use a knife and cut myself when I was very young. "She'll learn to stay away from the knives", he told mother. But I didn't, at least not for ever :) With the same logic he let me burn myself on a match, and I still have a big respect for fire. He stood beside me all the time, keeping me out of real danger.
But this tool he gave me as an act of love and respect: his pen knife. It was given to him when he started school in the 20s, and he had succeeded in keeping it for all of his life, through two wars, building a house, and for all his years as an active local polititian and cash manager. He asked me to never loose it, to take care of it, keep it sharp.
And I have. I still use it, but not very often as I'm afraid to break it. When father got it there were two blades. It had lost the bigger blade during daddy's early years, and the one that is left is well used. He gave it to me in 1963. Yes, I carved the date on the handle! Young as I was, I understood the meaning of this special present. I have lost so many things during the years, moving from house to house, from town to town and out in the countryside, but I have succeeded not to loose this dear little knife.
My father was a man with many skills, among them wood working. Over the years he gave me some of his treasures, usually because I begged for them: a hammer, cutting pliers, a screw driver, a wood file, knives, another hammer... He let me use a knife and cut myself when I was very young. "She'll learn to stay away from the knives", he told mother. But I didn't, at least not for ever :) With the same logic he let me burn myself on a match, and I still have a big respect for fire. He stood beside me all the time, keeping me out of real danger.
But this tool he gave me as an act of love and respect: his pen knife. It was given to him when he started school in the 20s, and he had succeeded in keeping it for all of his life, through two wars, building a house, and for all his years as an active local polititian and cash manager. He asked me to never loose it, to take care of it, keep it sharp.
And I have. I still use it, but not very often as I'm afraid to break it. When father got it there were two blades. It had lost the bigger blade during daddy's early years, and the one that is left is well used. He gave it to me in 1963. Yes, I carved the date on the handle! Young as I was, I understood the meaning of this special present. I have lost so many things during the years, moving from house to house, from town to town and out in the countryside, but I have succeeded not to loose this dear little knife.
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