I wanted the crowbar
Six feet of steel, of indeterminate age
brown, deeply pitted
an inch or so in diameter
thirty pounds at least
I never saw it bowed much less bent
I remember my old man,
in his mid thirties
sinking a fencepost
He lifted that bar from his shoulder
and drove it like a javelin
to a spot six feet away
swung it in a circle
grabbed it in the other hand
tossed it in again
drove and swung, drove and swung
alternating hands
shoulders and forearms rippling
tossing thirty pounds of steel
like a stick
I watched,
a four year old in a summer field
as he tossed it backhanded
where it landed at my feet
And it rung
It rung as only good steel rings
strong and deep
a sound you hear in your chest
It looked like fun
so I decided to try
and reached my little hands out to grasp the bar
and heaved
It may as well have been welded to the ground
surprised, I brought forth all of my puny might
and shifted it,
half an inch
I had never realized what strength was before
until that moment
I had seen that man toss like a toy
this item I couldn't budge
I turned, mouth gaping
the light of awe growing in my eyes
to see him smiling, that half-smile of his
he looked at me and said
"Someday you'll be able to do that"
I forgot that moment
until thirty years later
give or take
When, after driving it like a javelin into a spot six
feet away
and swinging it in a circle
alternating hands
and driving and swinging
driving and swinging
I tossed it backhanded
at the feet of my four-year-old boy
And it rung
as only good steel rings
My mind flooded back to another summer field
and another time
Then I saw my son's back heave
and heave again, this time shifting it,
half an inch
He turned around with a look of wonderment
as I picked him up and held him tight
his arms around my neck, squeezing me like he does
"Someday you'll be able to do that"
I told him