Sometime over the last year, I can't quite remember when, the children and I took my mother to visit my brother. He lives in Alabama and works so much we almost never get to see him. Mom tries to get someone to take her to visit at least twice a year, but there are not always drivers available to go for a weekend. This was my chance to take my children to see their cousins, aunt and uncle.
We stayed at my brothers and, as we were preparing for bed the night we arrived, Chuck came into my bedroom.
"Is it okay for me to give Dane a pocket knife, Trish? You know, every little boy needs a good knife. He's old enough now to learn to handle one, but I wanted to check with you first."
The funny thing is that all reason flies out the window when I talk to my brother. He spoiled me rotten as a child. He wanted a little brother and I was his last chance. When I turned out to be a girl, he decided he'd take me, anyway. It helped that I was a tomboy and lived outside. I liked nothing better than to go with him on a long motorcycle ride (he's 7 years older than me) or to roll on a creeper under the car and hand him tools and talk his ears off while he worked on Dad's car. (He took over all the repairs for the family vehicles by the time he was about 14 - he's a mechanical genius.) His buddies would give him a little bit of a hard time when he showed up to meet them with me hanging onto the back of his bike. But he could silence them with a look and he always made me feel wanted. Later, after he left home and was living up north, he started racing motorcycles. He was #2 in the Nation in Amateur Road Racing. On his way to any races in the southeast, he'd stop and pick me up. I worked on his pit crew and got to spend time with him. I've joked for years that if he ever fell off the pedestal I have him on, he'd kill himself, it's so high.
To add to the confusion, I always had a pocket knife as a child - a Swiss Army knife. It had the spoon, fork, bottle opener, etc. on it and I kept it in my pocket at all times. And I used it, almost daily. It worked great at cutting the bad spots off an apple that had just fallen out of our tree so I could eat it while swinging on the tree swing Daddy made. I used the scissors to cut down dandelions in the yard. Even now, I have a small Swiss Army Knife on my keychain that I use FREQUENTLY. So, when Chuckie suggested giving a 6-yr. old a SHARP knife to be kept in his pocket at all times, of course I willingly agreed. I thought he'd wait until the next morning (maybe by then I'd regain my senses), but he went into the bedroom where Dane was curled up in a sleeping bag, asked him to join him in the hallway, and gave him a beautiful stainless pocket knife. Dane was so excited that he put it under his pillow while he slept.
It took less than 12 hours for him to get it taken away from him. We were getting ready to go out and I had loaded the children in the van. I found Dane with a pile of tiny strips of leaves in his lap that he had cut with his knife. His instructions were that he could only use the knife or scissors with permission, which he didn't have. It got taken away for 24 hours. By the time he got it back, we were on our way home.
Dane couldn't wait to show his Dad his new treasure. Daddy glanced at me with raised eyebrows. I looked sheepish and shrugged. He knows how I feel about my brother. But, the next day, when Dane left for school, Daelyn got ahold of his knife and we haven't seen it since. We've searched the house, torn it apart, looking for this special knife from Dane's uncle. But it's nowhere to be found. For Dane's birthday this year, his Daddy gave him a replacement. It's not near as nice as the one Uncle Chuckie gave him, but he was thrilled to have a new knife. (Don says this is not a two-word expression. He is constantly telling me "It's not a jack-knife. It's just a knife." He's wrong. You can't refer to this kind of a knife without two words - it's either a pocket knife or a jack-knife."
Last night, as I was tucking the boys in, I found one of Dane's nicer outfits folded neatly on the bottom of his bed. I quizzed him about it and he explained that he wanted to dress as soon as he woke up. This is very unusual for my children. They usually stay in their pajamas as long as possible, like their mother. When I explored further, he explained that he needed pockets so he could carry his POCKET KNIFE (see - two words!).
This morning, after breakfast, Dane asked permission to "cut some things" with his knife. I had visions of shredded pieces of paper all over the den or leaves all over the van. "Cut what and where?" I asked.
"You know, stuff," he replied, then added, "out in the woods."
We have a little stand of trees in the corner of our yard. It's about 6 trees and the area is full of underbrush and sticker bushes. The children call this "the forest" or "the woods". Thankfully, he was wanting to use his knife outside. I was thrilled. Not only would he make a mess someplace other than the house, but he might even cut down some of the underbrush. The added benefit is getting the boys outside, which they've barely seen since the thermometer hit 100.
"Yes, that's a great idea. Lets' review our safety rules."
Dane rattled them all off, then ran out to "cut", with Daelyn close behind. He was gone a whole five minutes when he came running in, screaming. My heart stopped a beat. I expected to see a finger hanging by a hunk of skin, nice outfit all bloodied. Instead, he appeared with red splotches and said he was getting eaten alive by mosquitoes and wanted bug spray. I gladly sprayed him and Daelyn and sent them back out.
Big sigh. It only lasted about 2 minutes the second time. The bugs are still biting, despite the bug spray. Suddenly, cutting doesn't seem to interest Dane so much.
I need to get better bug spray or come up with some other solution if I want to keep the house clean for our dinner guests on Wednesday. Until we can get to the store, I think the solution is to get the children involved CLEANING. Dane may decide he doesn't mind the bugs so much, after all.
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