Dad was a wood carver. When we were young, he would take us to his shop in the woods we called our back yard and show us how to carve. His hand would rest powerfully over mine and guide the blade to create lines, forms, shapes, figures. I made a game out of trying to guess what these lines and shapes would come together to create. As I grew up, I got better at the game and gradually I developed some of my own skill with the blade. My creations were never quite on par with Dad's, but he told me they were good and encouraged me to keep trying. Every once in a while the blade would slip and I would ruin the carving. Dad would always take those ruined pieces from me and encourage me to keep trying. I drew blood a few times too. I remember the moments of shock, paralyzed at the sight of the loose skin and blood rising and eventually running down my hand. I felt completely isolated in those moments, Dad could not have been further away. But he always showed up at my side in time to stop the bleeding and bandage me back up. I took a break from carving after these incidents, but when I came back, Dad would be happy to see me and encourage me to keep trying.
During an exceptionally hard winter, Dad sent me and my older brother to Mr. Nelson's store to get some bread for the family. It was a long trek in the snow, but Dad had bundled us up and I had just begun to feel the sting of the cold when the store came into sight through the fog and snow. I removed my hood, beanie, scarf, and gloves when we got inside, but my brother did not. He told me to go get the bread and he would meet me back up front. The bread was in the second aisle like it had always been, across from the milk and the eggs. As I made my way up to the front, I saw my brother leaning in over the counter and Mrs. Nelson, on the other side, had a worried look on her face.
"What's wrong Mrs. Nelson?" I asked.
Without turning around, my brother yelled back "Just take the bread and go outside and wait for me!"
His voice was strained and nervous. I didn't know what to do, but Mrs. Nelson's eyes seemed to be telling me to do what I had been told. When I passed by my brother on my way out, I saw one of Dad's carving knives in his hand. It was pointed at Mrs. Nelson.
My internal shock and disbelief was matched by the numbing cold outside. For years Dad had taught us to use that knife to make useful things for the house or to make beautiful carvings. He taught us to use it as a tool to create with, but now my brother was using it as a weapon for violence. He came out of the store stuffing a small box into his jacket pocket. He caught me looking at the knife in his shaky hand and fumbled with it for a second before hiding it in his boot.
"You don't tell Dad anything! Okay? I'll tell him about the trip and you just be quiet! C'mon, we need to hurry back."
We jogged most of the way home, stumbling recklessly down the road. I was breathing hard and getting hot so I loosened my scarf, took off my hood and unzipped my coat a little. My brother kept running until we could see the house then he slowed down and told me to put all my stuff back on. I gave the bread to Dad as my brother lied. I still don't know why he did it. Dad had given us money to pay for the bread and Mrs. Nelson had always been nice to us, sometimes sneaking candy into the bag with our groceries. I sneaked into my brother's room that night and found the small box of cigarettes in his jacket pocket.
After that day, I didn't want to carve any more. I never wanted to hold a knife again. I never wanted to see a knife again. Dad tried to get me to join him in the shop but I would always make myself busy with other stuff around the house. One day he asked me to come carve with him and I stammered a little before telling him there was a book that I really wanted to read. He stood silently for a moment.
"I miss having you out in the shop, bud. Why don't you want to carve any more?"
We stared at each other for a moment and I could feel my eyes screaming silently. Fear boiled up inside me and I replied angrily.
"It just seems so dangerous! I was never very good at it and I don't want to get cut anymore! Those knives are too sharp!"
"Well you can't carve anything with a dull blade, son. You just have to learn to use the blade right. And besides, you're really good at carving. There's a spark to your work that can't be taught."
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