The Perfect Tool


A six year old boy

Left alone in the basement
Toys strewn everywhere
As well as a multitude of games
But these are meant for kids to play with
And I’m feeling adventurous
All down her by myself

So I search through Dad’s tools
Some are for banging
Some are for turning
Some are for pulling
Some are for grasping
All are for fixing, or building,
Or breaking.

But one in particular
Catches my attention
Shiny, with a crank
Resembling an eggbeater
But with a point at the end
That rotates with the crank

So I take Dad’s tool
Over to Mom’s couch
A keepsake sofa
An heirloom of sorts
With long wooden armrests
Shining brightly in the basement light.

Resting the tool’s point on the wood
I turn the crank
And experience the delightful sensation
Of feeling the tool pierce the wood
As I continually turn the crank
Drilling hole after hole
One after another
Until each armrest is is no longer whole

The tool is powerful
And by proxy, so am I
Enabled to completely alter the heirloom
To a ramshackle mess in a matter of moments

I loved that little hand drill
But perhaps not nearly as much
As my mom loved that couch
Fortunately, she loved me slightly more

A few weeks later, the couch was removed
Donated to a local charity
But Dad’s perfect tool remained
As did Mom’s perfect love.



3 thoughts on “The Perfect Tool

  1. What a beautifully written memory, Gregory. I am glad that your Mom love your slightly more. I am sure that I would not have reacted with patient understanding for a child’s imaginative curiosity that destroyed an heirloom.

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  2. I can just picture powerful you with your powerful tool. “Fortunately she loved me slightly more.” This incident must have been a family story told and told again. Thanks for sharing it.

    Liked by 1 person

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