The Wishing Knife

One day the old man's grandson spotted the knife, old and worn lying on his dresser.  "What's that" he asked?  "That's my wishing knife."  "Why do you call it your wishing knife, Grandpa?" now more curious.  "I'll tell you why" the old man replied.  

When I was a lad about your age, my dad was working long hours in a factory that made propellers for planes.  He worked long and hard for little pay because of the War overseas.  Everyone knew it was only a matter of time before we would need those planes in the air.  We could not hold out much longer before would have to get involved in the fighting.  There was an even more pressing need for men to join the service, and there had been discussion that Dad might be among those men.

To a boy who didn't understand the violence and devastation of war, but only saw the wonder of uniforms and mock battles played with toy soldiers where everyone lived to see another day, this was wonderfully exciting.  "Go Dad", I said, "Go and bring me something back."  My dad felt-duty bound to enlist, though not because of anything I had said.  To him it wasn't exciting or glamorous; he knew the dangers, but felt he owed his country this service.  Then Pearl Harbor was attacked, and attention was drawn to the death and destruction there.  This was it!  We were at war!  

I was excited and proud that my dad was going to be a soldier.  As he boarded the ship that would take him far across the ocean, the crowd cheered, and I cheered right along with them.  He was going to be based a world away in France, but spending much time aboard ship.  He was a seaman in the Navy, patrolling the waters just off the coast.  While there was much action in the Pacific, we were all relieved Dad was overseas just doing patrols.  This was still a frightening time, with long periods of silence, and letters from Dad were scarce.  The ones that did get through were filled with hope and courage, and reassurances that we shouldn't worry.  He was not among those doing the fighting.  He was just on patrol.

Six months later we got the call.  There had been a surprise attack on a Navy ship in the Mediterranean, and it had been sunk.  They didn't have any more information at that time.  Another ship in the area picked up all the survivors, and we awaited word.  The survivors had been identified, and Dad's name was not on the list.  I cried for days.  It was all my fault, I had wanted him to go.  I was so proud that my dad was in the Navy, fighting for his country.  Now he wasn't coming home.  I could not be consoled.

A Magpie Tale

When his body was found and shipped back to the states, along with his belongings there was a shiny new knife with a polished wooden handle.  It said "Made in France".  With it was a note that read:  To my dear son, may this knife always remind you of Freedom.  Love Dad.


I've kept this knife with me always, and everyday I look at it and wish that I could take back those words,  "Go Dad", I said, "Go and bring me something back."

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