Mr. Wade and the legend of the hat pin

By Bea Woods
Submitted to Corner Post

Mr. Wade was a neighbor and a carpenter. From our back yard we could see his house across our pasture and the gravel road that separated his place from ours. He was tall and lanky, and almost always had a smile on his face. I guess if I tried, I could recall a determined look on his face a few times, perhaps as he wrestled with a troubling problem regarding the precise amount of materials needed or angle of difficult cut. But with a solution, the smile returned.

Thin as he was, he was strong, as any man who made his living in carpentry in those days would be. Few power tools would be found in his truck or toolboxes. Yet, he seemed to me to be a very kind and gentle person. So, it struck me as odd to hear that his own children had a degree of respect that went beyond normal reverence; there was a hint of fear of their father. How could this be? I learned later a secret he employed to gain full attention and utter discipline. It came about quite by accident, but it became part of a weekly ritual in the Kidder household.

One evening, a visiting nephew came running into the house with a splinter in his hand. Without leaving his easy chair, Mr. Wade took a straight pin from his wife’s sewing basket nearby and began to remove the splinter. When the nephew made a sudden move, he was accidentally pricked by the pin. Later, as the story was told and re-told, the little straight pin became a large hat pin. And the accidental prick became a disciplinary jab for something the nephew was alleged to have done. Finally, Mr. Wade used it to his advantage. He told his own young son and daughter that if they didn’t listen and obey, he’d use the pin on them just as he had on their cousin. Anytime the kids would ask their older cousin about it, he’d simply confirm that Uncle Wade told him to be still and when he didn’t, Uncle Wade stuck him with a pin.

Overalls and boots were the standard uniform for Mr. Wade six and a half days a week. On Sunday mornings, however, he put on his dark suit and a tie for church. And just before leaving the house, in full sight of his kids, he’d take a hat pin from a drawer and place it discreetly behind the lapel of his suit. If, during church services, the temptation to fidget or make noise became too much for either of the kids to resist, Mr. Wade merely had to get the attention of the offender and touch his lapel to restore them to angelic grace!

When they returned home the pin of discipline would be returned to its place of safekeeping until next Sunday. During the week, the pin rarely was mentioned and never was withdrawn. Only near the end of Mr. Wade’s life, years after they’d raised their own children, did his kids learn the truth about the hat pin. The weapon they feared so greatly had never actually been used. Ironically, the only time a person was stuck by it (the only time blood was drawn by it) occurred when it somehow slipped from his lapel during a church service onto the pew. When Mr. Wade sat down, he “found” it. I imagine that would have been one of the few times the smile briefly left his face!