Hammer

My father's big hammer, always heavier than memory, its unwieldy weight was hard to control, had to choke up on the handle like a baseball bat. Important tool for a lad, a real hammer worked so much better than all the hard objects we've used in its place, shoe heel, rock, etc. So it was worth the slight risk involved with sneaking it out of my father's big tool chest, but I knew he really didn't mind. Immensely useful, the hammer always represented opportunity, something to do, make, fix, or just effectively bust up. We made our own skateboards back in the day, I made several over the early summers- the hammer was essential. Nails, screws, whatever worked, I got better at it by my second board. No nails, better screws, better wheels, but the big hammer was always near, lord over all. Sometimes the multi-task tool wasn't so useful, especially factoring in some dopey operator error, countless banged thumbs and hands, painfully missed targets, all part of the learning curve. One afternoon, I had my father's hammer, don't exactly recall why, but I vaguely remember roasted walnuts in a bowl in the living room. For some no doubt pointless reason like exploring motion physics, I started spinning in a circle with the heavy hammer swinging above me.The next thing I knew, I was groggy, waking up, and my mom was standing there screaming in fright. Looking over at the couch pillow, red with blood from my scalp. Yup, I did. Knocked myself right out with my father's big hammer. No permanent damage. No heart attack for mom, but she was plenty steamed about it, tending to my now aching head. Note to self, then you move on to the next lesson: when you have your father's big hammer, don't pretend you're Thor.😎