Dear Folks,
I'm not sure if this is appropriate, but I want to share a little story about my life with knives.
I found my first pocket knife in the seat of an old Buick my folks had when I was four(I am 32 now.) Against my mother's caution, my father said I could have it. It wasn't anything fancy, it had an imitation pearl handle and two high carbon blades with the tip of the main blade broken. I still have it.
Over the years I have purchased and been gifted with many knives. Some of them have been pretty good others were junk. My father gave me several, although he was not much of a knife person and most of what he gave me were attractive, but cheap knives, I have kept them all.
I also gave knives to my father. His Western stockman was showing wear from hard use and much sharpening, so I gave him and Old Timer that I could afford for regular carry. At a later date I gave him an inexpensive Case with the Masonic emblem on it. He was a Mason.
I guess all this has come to mind because we are approaching the third anniversary of my father's death. On December 23, 1996 Lacy E. Autry breathed his last in this life. That was on a Monday. On the Sunday before(Dec.22), I went to my parents home to sit with him. My father was bedridden during his last year and I usually went there on Sundays to help with his care. When I arrived that Sunday, I knew immediately that he was much worse. During the course of the afternoon I was only able to understand two things he said: The first was when he asked for water. The second shook me to my core, because several years earlier he had said it and never again until this day. He said, "make sure you get my knife." That was what he told me several years earlier when someone in the community had died. I knew at that moment that my daddy was dying very soon.
I haven't offered this for comment or sympathy. I guess all the knife stuff I've read in the past few days on the forums and the time of the year brought it up and I needed to put it into words. Thanks for listening(or reading actually)!
I'm not sure if this is appropriate, but I want to share a little story about my life with knives.
I found my first pocket knife in the seat of an old Buick my folks had when I was four(I am 32 now.) Against my mother's caution, my father said I could have it. It wasn't anything fancy, it had an imitation pearl handle and two high carbon blades with the tip of the main blade broken. I still have it.
Over the years I have purchased and been gifted with many knives. Some of them have been pretty good others were junk. My father gave me several, although he was not much of a knife person and most of what he gave me were attractive, but cheap knives, I have kept them all.
I also gave knives to my father. His Western stockman was showing wear from hard use and much sharpening, so I gave him and Old Timer that I could afford for regular carry. At a later date I gave him an inexpensive Case with the Masonic emblem on it. He was a Mason.
I guess all this has come to mind because we are approaching the third anniversary of my father's death. On December 23, 1996 Lacy E. Autry breathed his last in this life. That was on a Monday. On the Sunday before(Dec.22), I went to my parents home to sit with him. My father was bedridden during his last year and I usually went there on Sundays to help with his care. When I arrived that Sunday, I knew immediately that he was much worse. During the course of the afternoon I was only able to understand two things he said: The first was when he asked for water. The second shook me to my core, because several years earlier he had said it and never again until this day. He said, "make sure you get my knife." That was what he told me several years earlier when someone in the community had died. I knew at that moment that my daddy was dying very soon.
I haven't offered this for comment or sympathy. I guess all the knife stuff I've read in the past few days on the forums and the time of the year brought it up and I needed to put it into words. Thanks for listening(or reading actually)!
