I'm Just Sayin'

I am a knife guy. I love 'em. I always have a knife on me..."on me" means with me...in my pocket. Well, now days, there are exceptions although those exceptions are forced upon me with the  threat of serving time in jail. Can't take a knife on an airplane. Can't take a knife into a court building. Can't take a knife to school with you. I don't agree with any of these restrictions, but I'm not going to jail to protest these stupid laws. They don't allow knives in jail either. This is the only instance, aside from no knives allowed in nut houses, that makes much sense to me.

My pocket knife is a tool, a useful tool, and a friend. Never know when you're gonna need your pocket knife. I've used mine for all kinds of stuff. I've never used it to save a life or anything like that...and yet...you never know. I've used my knife to eat an apple. I've used it to open a box and I've used it to cut a string. I've cleaned my fingernails with my knife...usually I wipe it off real good before I slice apples. I've used my knife to cut tags off my jeans, open mail, whittle, prune a branch, carve my initials into the trunk of a tree.   I've been carrying a knife most of my life.

Seems like I got my first knife when I was about seven or eight. I've always had a knife or two since then. There have been times when I didn't carry a knife. I hate to admit that fact, but it's true. I've no explanation for those knife less times but I have carried a knife every day for the last twenty five years or so.  As a kid, some of us had knives and some didn't. Mostly, the crowd I hung around with did carry them..mostly meaning most of the guys, most of the time. Might need your knife to cut some fishin' line or dig up a worm. We all learned to care for our knives. We got out our dads' 3 in 1 oil and kept them cleaned and oiled. My first whetstone was a brick. It worked just fine as a whetstone.  I remember sitting on the back porch of our little house in Spartanburg  South Carolina with the water hose across my lap, the flow adjusted to a slow trickle, the brick wedged between my knees, smooth side up... and I would stroke my knife blade back and forth...back and forth with much care and purpose. The blade would have to be sharp enough to...say it with me..."shave the hair on my arm". This demonstration of sharpness would have to be done in front of witnesses, or at least one witness. Many of us had little patches of bare spots on our arms, but you still needed a witness to testify to the fact that you accomplished this bare spot shaving with your own knife. 

I have had many knives in my life...far many more than most. I buy and sell knives now. It's my hobby and it satisfies my craving to own more knives. I also know that knives are a very special tool for many folks...young and old and male and female. I love it when women buy knives for themselves. I suppose to try to explain the comfort a knife gives me is not necessary for those who understand and impossible for those who don't. Except, maybe I can influence someone who has never really given pocket knives a chance, never really thought much about it,  to try carrying one. My friend and fellow knife lover Cecil, tells me that he overheard the following advice being given from grandfather to grandson..."always carry a pocket knife and a handkerchief...you'll be able to take care of just about anything that comes along". Whether Cecil really overheard this or not...doesn't matter. The advice seems  sound to me. It's about time I passed this advice on to one of my granddaughters. I have one who is about the right age. I have just the right knife to give her and it will be my privilege to furnish her first knife. She'll always remember her first knife and who gave it to her....I hope.