Many Things

The man was kneeling on the ground coaxing a reluctant screw to turn. He was always coaxing reluctant things: corroded screws and bolts, stubborn piles of dirt or sand, brambles and undergrowth choking out the low-bush huckleberries, sulpher scrubbers on coal-fired power plants. The man and his tools were master coaxers.

His grandson squatted next to him, hoping to sneak some time alone while everyone else was somewhere else. It seemed to the boy that he never spent enough time working with his grandfather. He sat next to the man's left shoulder listening and watching everything the man did.

And the rusty screw began to turn.

Hayow bayout thayat? his grandfather chuckled half to himself, half to the boy in his way of demonstrating persistence and of demonstrating the value of using the right tool.

A spider walked across the ground. The boy watched it nervously and moved closer to his grandfather's coaxing shoulder.

What kind of spider is that, Bunka? he asked, trying to sound merely curious.

Haenh? his grandfather asked in his nasal what-did-you-say voice, and he looked down at the crawling spider and flicked it away -- much to the boy's relief. Not only was his grandfather a master coaxer, but he had no fear.

...

Nani?

What, Davy?

Was Bunka a ever a boy scout?

A boy scout?

He knows how to do so many things.

Yes. Your grandfather can do very many things.

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