You know, I shouldn't be suprised at the reaction, but I have been. I guess this type of stuff hits home with all us old school crowd. Very kind all of you!
Funny thing I didn't mention, since it didn't pertain to this story, but it now it kinda seems to fit.
After I gave my neighbor the knife and before I posted to you guys the "end of the story" I had an old friend come over all day Saturday. He is a Memphis Fireman and he was coming to help me put up a pool for my girls. As we sat on the back porch he reached in his pocket and pulled out this ugly, goofy looking butterfly knife style blade to cut something on his shoe. It was probably a 4" blade. This thing was a work of bad art. He told me he was at a truck stop traveling and it was only $10. Since then he has been carrying it everyday.
He told me he never understood why I always carried a knife all these years until now. I pulled out my yellerhandle CV Sodbuster jr and showed it to him. I told him the story of my neighbor. As we talked about knives and using them, I carried him in and showed him my growing collection of yellerhandles and about 1/3 of my colllection. He knew my dad well as we grew up. I showed him the last 3 blackhandle sodbuster jr's my dad had. They are worn slap out. He got a loud tone in his voice as he said "I remember him carrying that knife".
You know what happens next. Most of us traditional types can probably guess.
I gave him his choice of a new blackhandle or a new yellerhandle Case sodbuster jr.
He chose the blackhandle SS Sodbuster.
The amazement to me is how he is 38 yrs old and just now finding out a pocket knife is a wonderful tool. These 2 on the same day, and 4 other people over the last year I've given them pocket knives.
I tell you guys this because of the kind offer of knives and all the kind words. My collection of knives has grown large over the last 8 years, but the last year I found myself more traditional from the standpoint of giving. Buying this stuff is only money. What is accomplished by the gift and the lasting memories are worth more than money will ever buy. My real grandpa was the type to show up here at my house and pull a knife from his pocket and say "here, I got you this". As I've matured, I have realized the real joy in this.