Mom’s Scissors

When I was a kid, we only had two pairs of scissors in the entire house. One was a beat-up pair in the junk drawer. At some point, they must have been finished in red paint. Even though only a few tiny specks of red paint remained by the time I ever used them, they were universally referred to as “the red handled scissors.” The other pair was a glistening silver pair of Wiss dress maker shears. These lived in my mom’s sewing stuff. I’m not really sure where, because she guarded them like a dragon protecting its castle.

The Red Handled scissors cut everything: paper, string, tape, wire, brake line, chicken bones.... you name it and the Red Handled scissors were on the job. However, when it came to fabric, they were thoroughly inadequate for the job. For those special occasions, you had to ask Mom for the Silver Scissors. I don’t know where she kept them, but they’d miraculously appear under the strict provision that they be returned immediately after their use.

The Silver Scissors were always impeccably sharp, shiny, and flawless. I know she had them professionally sharpened from time to time because I remember as a child going someplace to pick them up. In what seemed like some kind of clandestine transaction, we would go someplace that had fabric. The clerk would slide them across the counter, wrapped in some brown paper and my mother would in turn slip him some money with a little nod. Maybe the clerk was sharpening scissors on the side, I don’t know, but I remember the Silver Scissors being even more sharp and perfect after they got back from their little spa vacation.

When I became an adult, I really had to be in awe of my mother’s scissors-management. At any given time, I must own 4 or 5 pair of “good scissors,” none of which I can ever find, and the Junk Drawer scissors apparently only live in the ether. It is now a solid fifty years since I first met the Silver Scissors. I would be willing to bet my life that my mother still has them lovingly stashed somewhere. You would think I should have learned from her after all these years, but I still can’t find my good scissors.

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