So, I woke up this morning in a haze, as usual. Grabbed that first cigarette and set to feeding the dog and getting ready to walk him. Puttered around and turned the computer on for my morning check of the forums. For some reason I was taken back in time today, I thought I'd share it with you fellas.
I figure I was about 5 or 6 years old that day, and it was probably Thanksgiving since we were all up at Pop&Nana's place. Don't really remember the day that well, it's the evening that stands out in my mind.
My granddad, dad, and I were all sitting around the kitchen table well past my bedtime and after everyone else had turned in. They were drinking and telling stories, playing card and paper games and teaching me the finer points of being a man...Ok so maybe I was just fetching beers and trying to wrap my head around all the riddles they kept proposing to each other.
"Go to the stockyard and purchase some animals for the farm. You're given $100.00 and may buy any combination of animals sold. You must come home with 100 animals and have spent exactly $100.
Cows: $10.
Sheep: $ 5.
Pigs: $0.50"
Needless to say, at 6 years old, I never figured that one out. Anyway, before long we were out on the front porch and for some reason, I'd impressed my grandad enough with something I said or did that he said, "Wait right here".
So, he goes back into the house and heads for the back room. He returns with--The Box.
Now, I knew my grandad was a knife nut, before I even knew what a knife nut was. As such, he had a dresser drawer sized box full of all his pocket knives for various occasions, and I knew better than to even get near the thing or I'd be picking a switch. Tonight though, he said, "Reach in there and find one ya like."
In my disbelief, I replied "ANY of them?!" and he nodded. This was a very, very big deal and I felt a sense of urgency to make a decision before he changed his mind.
So, I looked over the various patterns-Stockmen, Hawksbills, Trappers, Barlows...boy they were all so pretty and so many of them to choose from.
I was eyeing a big trapper when Dad suggested something smaller, so I settled on a small stockman pattern with wood scales and brass bolsters.
Pop looked at me and gave a look of approval with my choice and said, "Now you're gonna buy that knife from me. I'm gonna charge you a penny for it, ya got a penny?"
I started digging in my pockets and my little heart sank when I realized I didn't have a penny. Fortunately, Dad let me borrow one.
I don't remember too much about the rest of that night, might have fell asleep, might have been too excited to commit much else to memory.
I must have lost it shortly after, because I don't recall having it for too long.
I do remember Pop though, and how I got my first real knife. How he always had a knife and always kept 'em sharp enough to shave the hairs off your arm. He was proud of his sharpening skills, and I was always excited to go visit him and see just what he'd pull out of his pocket that day to open his pouch of Redman or to cut a hose or what not.
Spent a summer or two on and off growing up on his land, then went in the military at 17. Never saw him again by the time I got out, and I always wonder what happened to that box of knives.
Occasionally, I get to thinking I'd like a traditional knife like some of the ones he carried, but just can't bring myself to do it. You see, it wasn't the knife so much as where it came from. They sure don't make 'em like they used to--and it's hard to find pocket knives like the old ones too.
Gautier
I figure I was about 5 or 6 years old that day, and it was probably Thanksgiving since we were all up at Pop&Nana's place. Don't really remember the day that well, it's the evening that stands out in my mind.
My granddad, dad, and I were all sitting around the kitchen table well past my bedtime and after everyone else had turned in. They were drinking and telling stories, playing card and paper games and teaching me the finer points of being a man...Ok so maybe I was just fetching beers and trying to wrap my head around all the riddles they kept proposing to each other.
"Go to the stockyard and purchase some animals for the farm. You're given $100.00 and may buy any combination of animals sold. You must come home with 100 animals and have spent exactly $100.
Cows: $10.
Sheep: $ 5.
Pigs: $0.50"
Needless to say, at 6 years old, I never figured that one out. Anyway, before long we were out on the front porch and for some reason, I'd impressed my grandad enough with something I said or did that he said, "Wait right here".
So, he goes back into the house and heads for the back room. He returns with--The Box.
Now, I knew my grandad was a knife nut, before I even knew what a knife nut was. As such, he had a dresser drawer sized box full of all his pocket knives for various occasions, and I knew better than to even get near the thing or I'd be picking a switch. Tonight though, he said, "Reach in there and find one ya like."
In my disbelief, I replied "ANY of them?!" and he nodded. This was a very, very big deal and I felt a sense of urgency to make a decision before he changed his mind.
So, I looked over the various patterns-Stockmen, Hawksbills, Trappers, Barlows...boy they were all so pretty and so many of them to choose from.
I was eyeing a big trapper when Dad suggested something smaller, so I settled on a small stockman pattern with wood scales and brass bolsters.
Pop looked at me and gave a look of approval with my choice and said, "Now you're gonna buy that knife from me. I'm gonna charge you a penny for it, ya got a penny?"
I started digging in my pockets and my little heart sank when I realized I didn't have a penny. Fortunately, Dad let me borrow one.
I don't remember too much about the rest of that night, might have fell asleep, might have been too excited to commit much else to memory.
I must have lost it shortly after, because I don't recall having it for too long.
I do remember Pop though, and how I got my first real knife. How he always had a knife and always kept 'em sharp enough to shave the hairs off your arm. He was proud of his sharpening skills, and I was always excited to go visit him and see just what he'd pull out of his pocket that day to open his pouch of Redman or to cut a hose or what not.
Spent a summer or two on and off growing up on his land, then went in the military at 17. Never saw him again by the time I got out, and I always wonder what happened to that box of knives.
Occasionally, I get to thinking I'd like a traditional knife like some of the ones he carried, but just can't bring myself to do it. You see, it wasn't the knife so much as where it came from. They sure don't make 'em like they used to--and it's hard to find pocket knives like the old ones too.
Gautier
