PortrtMay14.jpg)
We were together for thirty-seven years. He came to me from Africa,
although his origins were European. We became good friends. He never asked me
for anything; however, I did my best to take care of him and treat him well. But
as for my friend, he helped me out of many a scrape and tight corner over the
years. He was always there for me.
Our relationship came to an end rather abruptly, and it was entirely my
fault.
My wife and I presented ourselves at Toronto’s Pearson
International Airport, bound on our recent trip to the UK. We’d checked in our
main luggage, and in due course it was time to put our cabin baggage through
the security check. May’s hand tote passed through the X-Ray and she sauntered
through the walk-through scanner.
My wheeled mini-luggage tote was next and disappeared into
the shrouded scanner. The checker staff motioned me to proceed to the
walk-through scanner. In the meantime my sleek new tote hadn’t come along the
conveyor.— Wonder why it’s taking so long? While I was threading my belt back through
the loops of my pants a security guard approached. In his hand was my
faithful old friend—my Swiss Army knife, which had more than a dozen functions.
 |
| Credit: Victorinox Similar, but mine had more features. |
A day or two earlier, our luggage cases were lined up on the
spare bed, lying open, like giant clamshells. I intended to—and thought I had—put
the knife into a case that would be going into the regular check-in luggage. But no, I’d inadvertently put it in my new
clamshell tote. The officer asked whether we had family in the airport to see
us off, who could have kept the knife till we returned. We didn’t. So that’s it.
Confiscated. He went off with my dear old friend in his hand. Thirty-seven years . . . gone.
Hey, no big deal. At least I wasn’t arrested . . . and it’s only a fancy knife—for cryin’ out
loud! Thirty or forty bucks could likely
replace it. What a stupid mistake, though.
To be sure, I will miss it for the keen scissors that were ideal for
trimming my hangnails and nipping off unruly hair ends that refused to
cooperate in my personal grooming.
What made that knife so special—even more so than it’s many
functions—is that my brother-in-law Bill sent it to me from Africa for Christmas
in 1977. He and my sister and family were in Kenya on missionary service. I’m
sure they sacrificed to provide the gift and mail it to me. My relationship
with the giver and the circumstances under which it was given heightened its
value to me. Besides, I’d hoped to pass it along to one of my grandsons.
~~~
Human relationships and friendships can be all too easily
forfeited. Carelessness and inattentiveness can rob us and others in our lives
of companionship and relational well-being.
Sometimes though, we have no option but to let old friends
go their own way and leave them free to develop new friendships and succeed in
every good way.
I hope that whoever now has my S.A. knife 'friend' will
appreciate and care for 'him' as well as I had done, and that they will never use him to harm anyone, but rather to help them.
~~+~~
Peter’s new book, “Raise Your Gaze . . . Musings of a Grateful
Heart,” was released in August.Peter A. Black is a freelance writer and columnist in Southwestern Ontario, and is author of “Parables from the Pond” – a children's / family book (mildly educational, inspirational in orientation, character reinforcing). Finalist – Word Alive Press. ISBN: 1897373-21-X. The book has found a place in various settings with a readership ranging from kids to senior adults.
No comments:
Post a Comment