Last Saturday night I attended the Indiana High School State Basketball Championship in Indianapolis, Indiana with my wife, son and granddaughter on her tenth birthday weekend. The venue was the Banker's Life Coliseum where the Indiana Pacers play. Since basketball is her passion, it was an exciting occasion for our granddaughter to see the Greensburg High School girls play for the state championship. And it was an exciting occasion for all of us.
My dad died on September 12, 1995, nearly six years to the day before 9-11, September 11, 2001. He could not have imagined the difference in security measures at airports, official buildings and public events. None of us imagined. I think about 9-11 every time I walk through a security gate.
Since my mother was alive, I didn't inherit anything from my father. But my mother gave me one thing that she thought he would have liked for me to have. She gave me his Case pocket knife that he had carried in his pocket for over forty years. This was a very useful knife. Besides the three blades enclosed in the handle, there was a cap lifter with a screwdriver, a can opener and a punch. From constant use over decades, he had worn the handle to a smooth and rounded surface. Every time I felt the knife in my pocket or used the knife, I thought about my dad. I don't know for a fact that someone's essence and presence can be attached to a physical object, but I do know that in a very powerful way, the memory of someone can be evoked with a place or material thing.
In June of 2003, after carrying that knife for eight years, I found myself in the Atlanta airport. My wife and sister treated me with a trip to New York City for my 50th birthday. Since at that time I didn't fly a lot, it was my first experience with TSA. My pocket knife was the last thing on my mind. A pocket knife is very comfortable in a pocket. When I unloaded the contents of my pocket into the bowl, the TSA agent told me that the knife had to go. I asked, "Go where?" And he pointed to the garbage can beside me. In a flash I saw that I only had two choices. I could turn around and not fly to NYC or I could throw my father's knife away and keep going. I tossed it. Dad's lifetime pocket knife was gone forever. Walking away, I knew that I had discarded one of the most valuable objects that I would ever own. As much as I enjoyed the trip, I experienced a type of grief for my knife and for my dad. Over the years, the option of catching the next flight has looked better and better. But it's probably just as well, as that knife would probably have been long, gone by now anyway.
When we got home, I bought another pocket knife. With only the three blades, it was not as fancy as my dad's knife, but I found it to be very useful. I carried that knife for about six years. Did I mention a pocket knife is very comfortable in a pocket? The experience at the Chattanooga airport was the same as in Atlanta. Only this time I didn't have to ask him my options; I just tossed it in the garbage can.
As before, when I got home, I bought another knife much like the one I had thrown away in Chattanooga. I carried that knife until last Saturday night.. I had learned my lesson in airports and had always left my pocket knife at home or checked it in my luggage. Last Saturday night with the excitement of the birthday and the big game, when I loaded my pockets, I didn't give my pocket knife a second thought. Who knew there would be tight security at a high school basketball game? At the security gate I asked the official,"What all do you need to see?" He said, "Your wallet, your cell phone and the contents of your pockets". I retrieved and showed him my pocket knife and asked him my options. As if I didn't know already, he just pointed to the garbage can beside him.
In the case of my dad's knife, there was an emotional attachment that was much deeper than the knife itself. With the latter two knives, it was only a pocket knife that I lost. But I find a pocket knife to be a very useful tool. I always carry one with me. But I also find a pocket knife to be very comfortable in my pocket. It is not equipped with alarms or flashing lights. Like an infant, it expects you to take care of it. Come to think of it, an infant lets you know when it needs something. A pocket knife remains completely silent.
Sometime in the next few days, I will go to Bass Pro Shop just up the road and buy a new pocket knife. As with the other two knives, I will have to deal with a pain of regret about my father's knife. I will know that on both a practical and emotional level no pocket knife will ever replace it. Besides the sentimental value, it was the best pocket knife that I have ever owned. I will also know that no matter how thoughtful and careful I am, this will not be the last pocket knife that I will ever buy. I'm very careful, but I can't anticipate my pocket knife's security threat in 100% of situations.
Greensburg lost the game and I lost my knife, but we had a great time together in that historic coliseum. Some things cut more deeply than others. All things considered, these losses were just a scratch.
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