Earlier in the evening after finishing up working on my truck, I came in the house and showered and shaved and was in my bedroom getting dressed. I had on pants but not shoes or a shirt, and my older son knocked on the door and asked if he could come in. "Sure, boy, come on in" I said. He walked in and sat on the end of my bed, staring into my closet. I had the bedroom light on and he could see the stuff in my closet. He's the kind of boy that loves a grown man's possessions and asks questions about things he ain't sure about. So while I'm pulling on my socks and my belt, he points to an old wooden box on the floor or the closet and asks what's inside. I told him that I didn't really know for sure what was in it. So I got the box and sat it on the bed and we looked through it's contents. The usual man stuff: old wore out wallets, a watch that don't work anymore, a Zippo lighter with my name engraved on it, some old pictures, and some of my old pocket knives. He was in awe of the lighter, it wouldn't light because the lighter fluid had long since dried up but he played with it for a few minutes. Then he spied the knives. He pointed to one in particular and asked to see it. So I sat down next to him and put it in his tiny hands, and he was in total amazement of it, he asked where I got it. I told him I bought it way before he was born, and that I had carried it on duty as a fireman. Well, I carried it in my pants pocket every day for several years when I was a fireman so it went to work with me on a daily basis. He was rubbing his tiny hands on it's smooth bone handles and just staring at it not saying anything, he does that when he likes something. I sat him on my knee with him still holding it and told him a story. You see, I used that pocket knife at a fiery car crash to cut the seat belt holding a small child inside a burning car, effectively freeing her from the danger. I told my son the story, albeit on the level he could understand. He stared at me, then down at it, still in his hands. He said he wants one like it so one day if he needs to do the same thing. I looked at him for a second, and then I said "Well, son, you can have this one. It's yours, boy. But I'm gonna keep it put up for you until you're older, okay? Is that cool with you, son?" He smiled real big and handed it to me and said "I like that, dad" and he ran off into the living room. I looked down at the old knife for a few minutes, remembering that fatal car crash and remembering pulling the kid out of the burning car after slicing through it's seat belt. I had to shake myself back into the present time and happy thoughts. I set the pocket knife back in the wooden box and shut the lid. I was putting on my shirt (finally) when the wife walked into our bedroom and playfully said "Giving dangerous items to our son, huh? ha ha ha." I said "He can't have it until he's old enough for it, baby. He'll be a man some day." She smiled and said "He looks up to you so much, he wants to be just like you, you're his hero." And she walked out. As I walked out of my bedroom and turned off the lights I though to myself "I sure am glad I quit the chewing tobacco, don't want my little boy wanting to do that just because I did." I'm glad I'm making better choices now, after realizing that I could be affecting his choices one day with what I do. That's a lot to swallow.
I'm trying to convince my mom to quit. It's a horrible habit to see a loved one struggle with. I admire your choice and wish you the best.
