Do as I Say, Not as I Do !!

I never intended to write about the event you will soon be reading.

The fact is, that while I love laughing at myself and sharing little

windows of my life to help others smile, I do, after all,

have to have my boundaries, right ?!

OK, so I will move the boundary a little to the right on this one … enjoy : ))

As a father, and more importantly a man who uses knives, it is my obvious responsibility to pass on this bit of manhood tradition to my sons as they become of “age”. I remember the moment of pride as my father showed me how to handle my first sharp knife … to wittle safely (by the rule of the knife) … and still have the scar on my first finger (from that day) to prove that knives don’t care about rules. I am now the proud owner and daily user of a peculiar device hanging at the right side of my belt. My leatherman multi-tool is there through thick and thin, rain or snow, whether out camping, fixing my 12 yr old car or drinking coffee on my back deck avoiding the next thing to be fixed. What I like most about my gleaming stainless steel companion (which resembles the “terminator” more than a tool) is the dependable surge of testosterone I experience each time I pull it from the holster and open it with one hand like an old western gunfighter showing how greased lighting looks under pressure. We two are one (a symbiotic relationship between it’s fire hardened steel and my time honed skill) and I am always ready to take on any repair job now that I have a tool truly worthy of my tool handling expertise.

I bought a smaller multi-tool of a different manufacturer for my elder son and took him out on the deck to show him (note: show= show off) four things:

1. How to hold the tool,
2. How not to hold the tool,
3. How to use it safely,
4. My scar to demonstrate the unfavorable combinations of items 1-3.

He was doing great, and his first project was to wittle the bark from his own new walking stick (certainly a manly memento he can treasure for years, if not at least afford me some bragging rights on what he had done) His blade certainly needed some sharpening though and I started to show him how to do this as well. “Hey ! What’s this on the blade ?!” I thought to myself as I noticed a slender line of deep red viscous material slowly flowing down the edge like motor oil. Yep … I had cleverly come up with another way to teach my son about the dangers of using a dull blade (you see I had just quoted “the only dangerous blade is a dull blade” line since sharp blades are easier to control LOL). My son stared in disbelief as he watched blood steadily drip from a cut running across the front of my thumb; a result of my finely tuned knife handling skills expertly applied to the task of sharpening his little 2” long knife. I looked up, spotted my wife’s face with that ironic smile as she asked “you didn’t ?!”. “I did” would have been the logical response but “just get a band-aid, please” is what came out. They all laughed … I dripped.

My wife is so proud of me. Who else but “her man” would be so loving as to actually cut himself to teach his son how to handle a knife ?! Apparently only me ?! LOL

Good luck guys (buy a knife already sharpened and save some pride)

Dave Cadieux

You Gotta Laugh!

My elder son was running late in shower, which would have made us both late in our morning preparations to drive him to his school bus pickup at the bottom of the road.

I decided to help him with his morning stuff (explaining that I was doing so, because he had been such a good helper around the house lately, and asked how good it felt to have others help him when needed) ; )) That got us back on schedule to leave at 7:15.

Now, feeling on top of my game, as father and provider, teacher and mentor, I locked the door as we stepped outside, and decided to further impress my elder son with my athletic prowess...

I took three running steps when my finely tuned senses deemed it the proper distance and ... jumped into the air, carrying both laptop bag and lunch bag, relying on years of instinct to carry me cleanly through an impressive vault over the entire rock garden where I would land, catlike, on first one lightly planted foot, then on both a few feet in front of the driveway corner.

At first, my plan was justified as I felt my body rising higher and could see that my feet would easily attain the needed height for my Olympic attempt I began to suspect a problem when I suddenly found myself scampering to readjust my feet

as these same finely tuned instincts began to shout " oh ****!! "

I was coming up far short of the distance required and rather than my feet being expertly positioned for landing on the elevated flat area of grass on the far side of the rock garden, I now found myself trying to climb the higher ledge of rocks with my knees.

That failing, my instincts once again shouted " fool, your face is gonna hit the ground!! "" My hands responded to years of training (painful face landings) and shot out to prevent another episode of, at this point, unwanted training in the same crash prevention. My lunch bag, apparently also trying to assist my rock climbing adventure, had a secure hold on the rocks as well; preventing my right hand from reaching it's proper position in front of my face and rather, helped my hand, now held as a tight fist, to be perfectly positioned under the middle of my right rib cage, which my ribs were quite cooperative to land with full weight as I finished my crash landing...

There I was, prone on the ground, with my body dramatically stretched across the width of the rock garden, feet now across the bottom ledge, waist in the middle, and chest at the top ledge of rocks atop my right fist, left hand securely holding keys (stuck in my wrist for good measure. My body resembling some misshapen bridge traversing the miniature canyon which is our one and one half deep rock garden and...

my adoring son, standing there, holding my hat asking, " Dad, are you ok?" LOL

What caused this jump to fail so subtly you may ask?

Was it:

• unexpected wind resistance from my hat as I vaulted?

• un-calculated weight of laptop bag?

• un-calculated weight of the two large fruits in my lunch bag?

• ice forming under the rock elevating their position?

• colder air being denser created more resistance in my horizontal movement?

• perhaps improperly equipping my knees with adequate rock climbing apparel?

I am sure I will find out soon, since I know, my instincts, finely tuned over 40 years of athletic training, will express themselves again ... (as soon as my body stops yelling " what is wrong with you??!! "

by David Cadieux