Dad's Pocketknife

Today I heard Earl Pitts on KHYI Dallas talking about how to find a 'real man'. "It's very simple", he said, "You simply ask a guy if you can borrow his pocketknife. If he reaches into his front pants pocket and produces a pocketknife, you've found yourself a real man".

During the entire commentary I thought of my dad and his pocketknife. He's always carried one for purposes that seem to be endless. My dad is an expert with that thing. He can remove a thorn or a splinter from my finger with his pocketknife. He can get that last piece of pecan out of the shell...wasting none of it. He can sharpen a pencil or make a referrence mark on a fencepost. He can remove a small branch from a sappling one moment and then slice off a piece of apple the next...of course he stabs the piece of apple and eats it right off the knife. When other families are preparring a meal of cold cuts and are fumbling and fighting that little plastic thing under the cap on a brand new squeeze bottle of mustard...my dad is reaching in that front pocket, opening the pocketknife and removing that blasted obstruction. I've had stray strings removed from the hem of my skirt on Easter morning with that pocketknife. He's saved many a cow from eating that poison weed that grows on the banks of the Guadelupe by cutting them down and throwing them in the river. He removes paint can lids, trims off the extra length on the cats' flea collar or just sits quietly contemplating life while he cleans under his fingernails...the man just takes care of stuff.

It is a special sound when he reaches for that pocketknife...one of my favorite sounds. The sound of change, some spare nails and other random hardware and that pocketknife getting swished around in there. He reaches out for me to hand him whatever I can't open, gets the lid off, then hands it back to me...handle first. That's a Real Man.