marți, 20 noiembrie 2012

(Research about screwdriver)

Dear Reader ,

      I guess like many of you, I discovered the hammer when I was still a child. In the summer vacations I used to go to my grandparents house. My grandparents were living in a very small village not far from Bucharest where I was born and where I lived with my parents.
I think my grandfather loved me a lot. I also think that he would have preferred to have a grandson instead of a granddaughter, or perhaps he just didn’t know the difference, but he for sure taught me a lot of men-things. However he never taught me how to piss standing though.

      Not a very long time ago I discovered that my grandmother didn’t really like kids - I mean she didn’t like anyone at all really - and I guess this may have been one of the main reasons why my grandfather had to take me with him everywhere he went. Of course, because I was already there with him, why wouldn’t he teach me how to do things so I could also be a bit useful..

      We had a kind of nice relation. Even if we were all day together biking, gardening, swimming, going to the mill or having some drinks with the other drunk men of the village, we never wasted time speaking too much.

      Anyway, one day he had to make a chair. In small villages everyone is a good carpenter, and I assure you that their furniture is much more original than the one you find in the big, expensive markets today (if you know what I mean). So I went with him in the backyard where near the yard-toilet (which was full of posters with cartoons, naked women and football players) he had his small workshop. There was a small room which he built himself where he kept all his tools.

      While he would make the chair I would play with the chicken, but after a while I got bored so I asked him if I could help. He was quite surprised that I asked that and he didn’t have anything prepared so what he did was to give me one of his hammers and some leftover wood. My hammer was a bit different from his but I didn’t care. I thought that he gave me this one because it was smaller and easier so he didn’t had to fear that I would hit my fingers, which could have distracted him from work.

      So I started to hit the nails in the wood pieces and made myself an airplane.
Sometimes later when my vacation was almost at its end we went with our bikes in the woods. He said he had a surprise for me. We had to go on very thin paths in very arduous places. The trees were way above my head looking very dark even in the daylight and there were only a few rays of sun shine meeting the earth which was fully covered with leaves. I was there many times before and it wasn’t a really big wood, but even so I always had the impression that if I would be there alone I would be lost forever. So I was afraid to take my eyes away from my grandfathers back.

      We arrived at a small tree and we collected some brown, round seeds with a very hard peel. He called this seeds “nuts”. Once back home, he emptied the bag of nuts on the cement ground in the courtyard. Then he brought the hammers and started hitting the seeds one by one and then slowly opened them giving me what was inside. It tasted really nice. He told me that if I want more I should break some nuts for my self. Now I realize that that day he actually wanted to teach me something more than how to work for myself, how to get my own food, and that I should become independent (if I want to survive in society), he actually tried to teach me how else I could use such a simple, easy and elegant tool not only for the purpose of making toys.

      After this vacation, I went to school for the first time. At the beginning of the books we had the national anthem and some drawn figures, carrying a big red flag on which I recognized the hammer. I asked the teacher what a hammer was doing on the math book, and she said that those books were really old and that that used to be the national flag some years before.

      I had no other experience with this tool since then, until I got to high school, where our history teacher explained us the symbol of the hammer and sickle from our old flag. So she said it symbolized the working class and also the power. The power of whom? Of the non-working class of course, or to say it in an other way, the people with enough money and good relations. She didn’t formulate like this obviously, but I made some researches when I got home after class.

      Actually my grandfather didn’t give me the communist symbol, because I was born already in the screwdrivers generation.