I find the flippant attitude towards forks in this thread to be a sad statement about humanity.
Let me tell you about what forks (or more to the point... a fork) mean to me:
I remember the foster care agent that dropped me off at my new home. He had a red mustang convertible that was very new and very neat... especially to someone 1 year old. All I had with me was a small bag with some clothes, a blanket and a fork that my mother had given me to remember her by.
As I turned 2, I realized that blankets were for babies and I had no need for them. I'd also grown out of all those stuffy 1 year old clothes. All I had left was my fork. My parents insisted I was too young to have a fork, so they kept it for me on the mantle until they thought I was old enough to have it for myself. Up there it stayed, a tribute to a year in my life that I could barely remember. I'd sit for hours staring up at my fork and trying to remember any little thing from that first year. Something that would help me remember my mother. The fork enabled me to remember every little detail.
Finally, when I turned 5, my foster parents decided that it was time to take my fork down from the mantle and entrust it to my safekeeping. It was the highlight of my childhood. I used the fork for everything... eating breakfast, lunch and dinner... combing my hair... cleaning up my room... whatever. It went wherever I did and it participated in whatever I was participating in. At night, I'd place it on my dresser and stare at it until I fell asleep.
As I grew older, the fork became less and less of a comfort. I believed that the fork actually began to mock me and my need for it. The fork and I shared a tumultuous adolescense together, but feelings ran deep and we made it through together.
Unfortunately, adult life was another story. Girlfriends didn't understand my love for my fork and it acted as a wedge for several relationships. Often, I'd think the fork was devising ways to doom me and my relationships. It began to grate on me. Besides, what kind of a grown man relies on a fork for comfort. Finally, on my 24th birthday, I'd had enough. The fork had just driven another girl away and I was done with it. As I was driving home from the breakup, I threw the fork out the car window. It struck someone in the shoulder and stuck... I could hear their screams as I drove away. Once I got home, and thought about what I'd done, I realized I'd made a mistake. I tried to go back to the spot where I threw the fork out the window and look for it, or for a blood trail... anything that would help me find it. But I couldn't find a single trace of it.
To this day, I regret losing that fork.
So... make fun of forks all you want. I suppose its easy to do when a fork never really meant that much to you. But I'll always have the memory of my fork, and I'll always have a respect for all forks as a result.
MiniD
