Cromey Online

The writings of author, therapist, and priest Robert Warren Cromey.

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Location: San Francisco, California, United States

Wednesday, August 29, 2007

The Knife

“Don’t cut yourself, Bobby,” my father used to say to me when I was a little boy. It was a good warning to a youngster full of curiosity about everything. I did cut myself once in a while cutting an apple or peach. Later, I thought a Boy Scout knife was the greatest thing in the world and I wanted to have one. It had lots of blades and bottle cap opener and screwdriver. I loved just fiddling with it and looking at it. Once I cut myself fairly deeply and I looked into a layer or two of skin before I started to bleed. I hated the idea of looking inside the skin. I eared possible seeing the bone beneath.

As I grew older I had the thought of a knife going into a body as in a stabbing. The idea of a knife penetrating my body or anyone else’s gives me a shock. Knifing and slashing depicted in movies make me ill and I avert my eyes if I can see it coming.

When the 9/11 terrorists slashed the throat of one of the pilots to take over the plane, I felt faint just thinking about it. When I read of a woman raped and then murdered as the killer slashed her throat, I was appalled.

I have had a hip and knee replacement. My doctor asked me if I wanted to view the video of the surgery. I told him he just wanted to see me the big sissy faint away.
I am shocked when I read of Lorene Bobbitt slicing off her husband’s cock. It takes my breath away. I read of husbands who get so enraged that they take a knife and slash and stab their wives. Being held up at knifepoint presents a fear I hope never to feel.

My friend who drove a yellow cab in San Francisco told me two African American men got into his cab early one morning, one leaned forward and put a knife to his neck and demanded money. They escaped with a small amount of cash and my friend was spared.

I got a new electric knife that I really like. My wife hates it and is afraid of it. A guest came and looked at it and said it reminded him of a chainsaw. Needless to say, I never go to a movie with the word chainsaw in the title.

And knives are wonderful. Steel blades and silver handles cut my steak into nice bites. Scalpels incise my body to bring healing as infected parts are removed. Knives cut vegetables and fruit, cut rope and string, whittle wood into artistic shapes. Knives can be beautiful to look at with black handles and stainless steel blades. They have the power to hurt and heal. Just like water, quenches thirst and drowns people.

Why do I fear knives? They might kill or hurt me, cause me to bleed. I am not fond of the sight of blood and don’t look when I see it coming in movies or on TV. Knives cause a special kind of pain at least in my eyes. They frighten me and make me think of death and pain. I wonder if I would ever get mad enough to use a knife on someone else?

Knives could cut me open and people would see inside me and discover who I really am. Is a knife like a penis that enters another human, a woman? Does the knife/penis go into me and make me see myself, my inner hidden self? Perhaps, but I am pretty confident I know myself quite well and am willing to show others all the parts of me. My dark side is there and I am able to show it. But no truth is perfect. Perhaps my fear of knives and penetration reflect some fear of finding out who I am and hidden secrets. But I’ll just have to wait and see and I am still afraid of knives and being cut.

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