Attribution: National Archives and Records Administration, Public domain, via Wikimedia Commons
By Bill Stokes
Kickass, the doorstop dog, acknowledges Phyllis and turns it all over to the keeper on this day of Aug. 18, 2026.
The scissors sharpener came ambling down the country road with his little bundle of worldly goods and a blank expression behind his bristly beard. It was the shank of the Great Depression recovery years and wandering solitary men were not uncommon even on rural landscapes.
The scissors sharpener was welcomed onto the back porch where Dad and Louie the hired man were taking the Sunday morning sunshine in uncharacteristic leisure with a dog named Shep and me as a curious kid.
Mom’s “good” scissors were suddenly in the scissor sharpener’s wrinkled hands and he showed Dad and Louie how to hold scissors so they either cut or didn’t cut no matter how sharp or dull they were. Dad and Louie grinned and nodded and it seemed to me that the scissor sharpener had just given away what must have been his most effective sales gimmick.
Mom brought the scissor sharpener a big sandwich–fried steak on home-made bread, and all those on the porch, especially Shep, watched the scissors sharpener slowly eat it.
When he had finished, he picked up his few simple tools and his sack of meager possessions and headed off down the road. But first he stood for a long time at the end of the driveway looking back at us on the porch.
That’s how I remember him best. And then, of course, he comes fleetingly to mind every time I pick up a pair of scissors and check to make sure I am holding them according to the scissors sharpener’s “cut” directions!
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