Sharp Objects

To tell someone not to run with scissors is just an observation of a principle in safety suggesting that one might hurt themselves if they run with scissors, which is true but, what if you were being chased by a bear and you happened to have a pair of scissors in your hand. The odds of being able to out run the bear are slim, you don’t really want to give up your only weapon, and the odds of being able to fight off the bear with the scissors is slim as well. So, if there is a window open to the possibility of being able to evade the bear then it would seem logical, to run, with the scissors. 

When I was a kid my papaw owned a wheel grinder which he used to sharpen everything, including the scissors. There really should have been a warning label with the kitchen knives after he had sharpened them, immediately post sharpening, they could cut you if you looked at the wrong. 

He would sharpen his ax with the wheel grinder too. An ax didn’t really need to be razor sharp. Splitting wood was its primary purpose so for the most part it was speed and pressure combined with hitting the block of wood in the right spot that did the job.

Probably though, one of those most dangerous things in Papaw’s arsenal of sharp objects was his tobacco knife. It didn’t look like a regular knife like what you would imagine that a knife would look like. It looked a lot like a light weight miniature ax with a soft wood handle and a square blade slanted on the business side held in place by two screws.   

Papaw kept his tobacco knife hanging by the front door on a nail via a string he had tied through a hole in the end of the handle. He used his for cutting weeds and killing snakes. It was pretty common for patches of horse weeds to spring up and take over the place. I remember that it was always a small joy to us grandchildren to be able to play in a place once infested by horseweeds. Of course, Papaw’s mind was at ease because he knew that we were safe from snakes because he had either killed them or had removed their hiding places.

With Mama it was a different story. No body else was allowed to use Papaws tobacco knife and the only time I saw my Mama touch it was when it was time to kill a chicken. She would grab one up by the legs and lay its head over a sharping block. The chicken would just look around curious without a clue in its mind what was about to happen to it. It was such a smooth clean cut that the chickens really never knew what happened to them anyway. She would throw the body on the ground and usually it would have enough time to right itself and take two steps before it fell over, all the while its clueless head would lay on the stump with its eyes blinking.

I was always fascinated with this thing called the tobacco knife but was never allowed to use it, nor did I ever have the opportunity to use one in its natural environment. I did try to purchase one once and found that they are particularly hard to find. I can’t remember what I ever needed one for, but I know I don’t really have no use for one now, but still, for the sake of fondness for this tool, I would love to have one hanging on a nail by my front door. 

Salutation Pending 

Johnny R Draper