Knife sharpener

Tyler brought home a knife sharpener from work last night. We’ve been smashing tomatoes, and other delicate produce for some time, and I wanted to enjoy a sandwich with more than just tomato skins.

I don’t know how to sharpen knives. My dad used to take all of the kitchen knives downstairs, set up the wet stone on the reach-in freezer, and methodically sharpen them all on a regular basis. The front door of my room opens to this spot in my parents home.

Sometimes I’d be in my room reading, listening to music, or doing my high school homework when he’d start his TLC for the knives. I’d usually embrace this distraction from my high school studies, lean against my door frame and blather with him for a bit.

“You know, you’ll have to get yourself your own a knife sharpener someday,” he told me.

I told him that I probably didn’t need a lot of kitchen knives in my dorm room for the coming fall, so I could probably do without a sharpener for a while.

He sighed.

“That’s not what I meant,” he said.

I didn’t get right away what he was saying. I just let the comment pass and continued on with the conversation by taking it in a different direction.

But now watching Tyler set up the sharpening stone, placing the knives next to it, and hearing that steady scrape improve the blades one stroke at a time — I understand what my dad was trying to tell back then.

I’m happy to have my own knife sharpener.