Chapter 1
The Fathers True Story of the Knife
In ancient days, when you were too young to join the Boy Scouts, you had to be a Cub Scout. This was for little boys between the ages of 7 and 11. Can you believe, as old as I am, I still remember Lorne Broomfield, the name of my “Sixer”? He was at least a few years older that me and the leader of our Six-Pack, the Wolverines. They really did call it a “Six-Pack”.
I was very proud to be a Wolverine and I absolutely idolized Lorne Broomfield. Lorne’s green uniform had that worn-out-look, undoubtedly, from years of camping out in the forest and I had a brand new crisp uniform which made me feel completely insecure. No one ever wants to be first and no one wants to be a neophyte. It wasn’t jealousy I felt, but, I guess, a little bit of envy as I often watched Lorne pull out the gleaming steel, well used, official scout knife from its leather sheath attached to his belt. This knife, for me, was the ultimate symbol that you had “arrived” as a Scout.
Every year we went on an overnight camping trip. We learned to pitch a tent, make things, tie knots and cook on an open fire. It was on my first camping trip that an very incredible event happened – a simple event but, nonetheless, very magical. The campsite was located out in the wilderness were the wild animals roamed – beaver, skunks, eagles, mountain lions and even bears. One had to have a knife to protect ones self. The first day of my first camp we arrived late in the morning after a long drive. The orientation and rules were laid out and once we had pitched our tents and made everything ready for the weekend, we were free to roam. Ah – freedom. We climbed trees, looked for eagles in the sky, quietly listened for mountain lions or bears at the edge of the woods. It was all very exhilarating.
And then it happened – miracle of miracles. I’ve always been a bit of a loner. That afternoon, late, just before the sun was about to set, I was walking through the long tall grass that lined the forest edge and stepped on something under the grass that caused my ankle to turn slightly. At first I thought it was a rock but it seemed to have a very strange shape.
I sat down on the ground and pulled the grass apart to see what it was. There, just for me, a gift from above, a real official Boy Scout knife, well used and scratched up just as I would want it to be. Now this was a miracle enough, but the clincher that told me I was to never tell anyone where I got my new knife was the fact that, there, on the face of the leather sheath were carved the intials “J.A.”. My initials. Finally I had arrived as a Cub Scout. Eventually, when I was older, I joined the Boy Scouts and with me, by my side attached to my belt, was my official Boy Scout Knife – my knife – given to me as a gift.
Chapter 2
The Fathers True Story About the Son
Very old souls often come into this modern world with heightened intelligence and wisdom. They come for a particular reason with a particular mission in life. Often, that mission is a simple one and something only understood by them. It is not always evident to other people and is almost always not what people expect. Very old souls, who are often very childlike in their nature, also tend to get looked after by the Laws of Nature.
My Son is a very intelligent human being and, in my opinion, a very old soul. He also has a radically alternative view of life. He is much like his father. He is not particularly motivated by money or creature comforts. He only wants the basics in life. The basics for him are a comfortable place to sleep, good close loving friends, the best musical instruments money can buy, musicians to play with, enough money to go to the odd Rock Concert, a regular bottle of beer, and a bicycle to get from point “A” to point “B” . For him, the beer part is imbibed at the local pub on a regular basis. This has been the case for many, many years, much to his Fathers consternation.
His friends have often joked about his Comfort Zone being a circular radius of two miles from his home. I disagree with his friends. I believe the truth of the matter is that his comfort zone is more like one mile from his home.
Nevertheless, his life has been quite satisfying for him, if not somewhat restricted.
Life has a way of getting what it thinks is best for you. After all, the reason for existence here on Earth is to enjoy our life here to the fullest. Sometimes when we don’t do that, events happen, Magical events. The Magic of Life, if you will.
Elevated transportation methods are most efficient and enable a human being to expand ones horizons and tend to increase the level of adventure that life has to offer. An increased level of adventure, tends to increase one’s level of enjoyment, awareness and consciousness.
My Son, recently, was enjoying his favorite beer at his favorite pub, with his favorite friends, cheering on his favorite Hockey Team, The Vancouver Canucks, who incidentally won the game. As they often do at this type of an event, they had a draw for a prize. You have to pay to enter the draw, which I assume he did. The draw, in this case, was to pick out an envelope with the keys to a brand new automobile. You guessed it – out of 400 envelopes, he picked the one with the keys to a new Pontiac G3. It has very good gas mileage for someone who doesn’t need a lot of money and wouldn’t want to spend a lot on gas.
Automobiles are very helpful in expanding ones horizons.
Life has it’s ways, dear reader. Don’t underestimate the power of the universe to look after you and your life. Just take one step and Nature will take 10 steps.
Life is indeed a magical ride – Do you see the magic?
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John Archer 