The Knife Giver. GA

[johnny twoshoes]

I remember heading to his farm a few times every year, it was usually a special occasion, but many a time it was just for a visit. It was a time I looked forward to because the people were always so pleasant and nice. They made you feel at home and their company was an escape from the rush of the real world.

The Knife Giver was an old man when I was little. As I aged and started becoming a young man, he too aged, but the season’s turn left him with less years to count on. He was a carpenter by trade and guitar player by hobby, but he could do just about anything, or so it seemed to me.

The Knife Giver would sit in one of his rocking chairs, one made by his own hands, he would start to pick a tune on one of his guitars. Usually a Johnny Cash kind of music. He seemed to fade into his music as the time passed and I faded with him. As his tune played,I’d suddenly remember one of the troubles I was facing in my life and I’d loose focus of the melody, too consumed with how to over come the next obstacle. Just then the strings would pause and The Knife Giver would look up from his guitar and he’d look at me for a minute, then he would give me some words of wisdom and every time it was just what I needed to hear to get me through the rough spot. To me it seemed as though he were reading my mind before he’d speak his word of wisdom, whatever it was, it was the right thing.

The Knife Giver earned his moniker because of his giving spirit and my interest in knives. Every visit he would have a new knife for me, one that was usually used up from his work in the wood shop, but there was always a little life left in those old blades. A peanut here, an old rope knife there, every time I saw him there was a new blade to look forward to. He’d tell a tale of each knife before handing it over to me as the new owner and he’d do so with a joyful glint in his eye.

For as long as I knew The Knife Giver, he always carried a knife. The knife was a little Case pocket knife, a three bladed stockman. The blades were well sharpened and sported a good patina from the years of service of peeling an apple, removing a slinter, opening mail or any of the other many mundane chores that everyday life throws at a carpenter. The jigged plastic handles felt perfect in hand and were as comfortable as The Giver’s presence.

The years passed on and age started to slow him from his work in the wood shop and he spent a lot of time at home. I’d show up and he’d want to take me to the shop so I could get one of his old users, I just wanted him to slow down and to just relax and visit when I showed up, but I also didn’t want to hurt his feelings.

The Knife Giver shared some sad news with me one day and he told me that his time was near to be called home. He knew he was in a battle, but he’d never loose it, he’d just do what he wanted to do, he’d go home.

When I pulled up to the old farm house I knew it would be one of my last visits to The Knife Giver’s place. It was tough trying not to want him to keep his fight going, but knowing that he wanted the pain to go away was the only slight comfort. I walked through the door and found The Giver in his rocking chair, he gave me smile and welcomed me warmly.

We talked a while and thought a while. He’d dose off, then slowly raise his eyebrows and see that I was still there, he’d send a smile my way before nodding off again. Night fell and I was getting ready to head home, so I stood and said my goodbyes and I turned for the door. As I reached for the door nob The Knife Giver yelled out in his loudest voice possible, “wait a minute”. I walked back to his room and he was leaning in his chair, “I got something for you, remember”? I shook my head no and he sent me another smile as if I knew better. He labored to reach into his faded blue jeans, he fished around looking for something until finally his fingers grasped his treasure.

He reached out with his hand closed, there was a slight treble, but he fought to keep his strength. I reached with my hand and met his closed fist, his hand opened and I knew it would be the last time The Knife Giver gave. He just nodded and said, “I don’t need it anymore”.

Without even looking I slid the little knife into my pocket, I again, said my goodbyes and I left. The sorrow of his indefinite loss overtook me in the car, I finally gathered my composure and made my way home.

The next morning the phone rang and the news was all too obvious, The Giver went home.

 

[johnny twoshoes]

In honor of The Giver and the many blessings I have had throughout my life, I would love to host a GA. I've won a few GAs and have been blessed by the many generous members of the place. I was waiting for 1000 traditional posts, but I have decided to do this a little early. I got a great new job and will be spending a lot less time online, but I'll get my 1000th traditional in before too long.

So, in order to enter you have to be a regular here on the traditional forum.
You have to share a story, or picture, or anything you want, of your favorite knife that was given to you, it doesn't matter whom the giver was.
I'm not 100% sure on how I will choose the winners, but I'll figure it out down the road when the time comes.

I have three knives picked out for the GA, but a few more might be added, we will see once this gets going.

Good luck and thanks for the wonderful times.

Here are the knives.

 

[Simple Man]

Johnny, no need to include me. I just wanted to say how very blessed we are to have these folk on our lives, and how we need to remember regardless how busy we think we are, time spent with family and friends is never wasted. I have all my Grandads knives (5-6) and am able to recall each one being used or memory of time spent with each. Thanks JT.

 

[Doug Add]

Congratulations on the new job!

Thanks for the giveaway, and for the great story.

I'll tell of my most recent gifted knife. I had purchased a Camillus-made Sears Craftsman peanut from Vanguard41xx, and when the package arrived it contained not one, but two knives! He threw in a Colonial Ranger stockman for free. What a kind gesture!

When I mentioned his kindness on the forum, he brushed it off saying something about me liking smaller knives than he does. Not only is the man generous, he is humble!

Here it is:

 

[glennbad]

You certainly have the gift of turning a tale. Great story, well told.

I have been given knives over the years by different people, but I guess any knife given to me by my dad is my favorite. Although he never actively encouraged my love of knives growing up, neither did he inhibit it. Probably my favorite is when he gave me his old EOD kit.

You could see that it was well used, but taken care of. I did the mod on the stone sheath afterwards. That meant alot to me that he trusted me to take care of something that had taken care of him while he was in the service.

Here's a somewhat related knife as well, the knife they gave him when he retired from the Air Force. He also gave that to me.

I'm sure there are other knives that are more "traditional" that are given as gifts. And I have received many like that. But this one is special. I always coveted it, sitting wrapped up in an ammo can in the basement. A piece of my dad's early years, that I wish could tell stories. I am fortunate that my dad is still with us. He has certainly had his share of medical issues, and we have come close to losing him on more than one occasion. Eventually, that day will come, and I have no doubt that knife will be as revered by me as the sandbar bowie.

Thanks for the giveaway chance, and the great story as well.

Glenn

 

[johnny twoshoes]

Truly a fantastic knife Glenn.

P.S.
I'm shipping anywhere in the world, as long as I don't have to worry about some crazy government wanting to know why I am supplying it's people with weapons.

 

[popedandy]

I really enjoyed the story. My grandpa gave me my first knife, a Camillus stockman, when I was in second grade. I carried it for many years until I lost it. I recently found one just like it to take its place. My dad gave me the Kabar that he wore when he was in the Navy. He said he figured i was the only one of the kids it would mean much to. It came with an interesting story about how it once saved his life.

I have been able to pass knives along to others from time and have always gotten much joy out of it.

 

[Humppa]

Thank you for the chance, Johnny

The very first knife that was given to me, was by my Dad. We were on vacation in Switzerland. It was a boring trip to me. I was a boy with about seven or eight years. While Dad and I were walking through a town he asked me, if I want a present. He offered me a watch or a SAK. There was no way to think about - I needed a knife. Definitelly!! We were walking inside a little shop and he said, which SAK I ever want, he´ll get it for me. He told the woman, which was selling that, that he wants an engraving on the handle. My given name was engraved in the knife. So I decided. It had everything I needed at that time. Two blades, a saw, scissors and so on... I couldn´t wait getting home and giving a trip to the forests at home.
Back home, I straight went into the wood, two buddies were with me from the neighborhood. I took out the SAK and showed it to them... a lot off "Ahhhh!"s and "Owwww"s were to hear. We built a little camp. Things that boys do in the woods, right? I took it to school, there I was the king. I was the only one in 3rd grade who had his own knife. That was a time when noone got scarred when someone took a knife to school. Nowadays they would call the SWAT, I think.
When I got older, I took with me to Munich, though I bought other traditional german pattern. But this one is still very special for me.

It was around Christmas 2011 (so last year) my Dad asked me, if I still have it or if I´ve lost it somewhere. I showed it off to him and he was happy.

Nowadays this one is a safequeen for me... it will always remember me to my Dad. I have enough other knives to carry...

Here are some pics - the engraved word means "Andreas" - Andrew is the english version for the name.

I hope you could enjoy the story and the pics.

Kind regards
Andi

 

[pinnah]

This is a story of a knife taken, sort of...

I spent a lot of time with my Grandfather growing up. There were... complications on the home front and things were easier all around with me shipped off to be with them during the summer in Vermont. He taught me to fish and later to hunt. None of his boys had taken up hunting and I was the only grand kid interested in it. One summer night, he showed me his hunting knife, a monstrous bowie knife with a leather sheath he had made with his initials in it. The leather was drying and the stitching had let loose. Knowing that I had childhood interest in leather working, he let me nurse the leather back to health and to relace the sheath. I didn't see that knife much after that. When I went hunting with him, I just carried my Buck 110 and his bowie rode in the bottom of a dog eared Pan-Am carry on bag that he used to carry shells, his hunting hat, gloves and lunch when we drove up in our cousins trucks to the hunting camp. When hunting was over, I would put the Pan-Am bag up on a shelf in the old homestead for next year.

Eventually, his legs gave out. He still drove north with me and we still went up to the camp, but his "job" was to keep the stove in the camp red hot and listen to the radios while we crawled around the firs and birch chasing tracks. On one of those trips, he gave me his old Winchester to carry.


I visited him on sunny day at the nursing home. His heart was getting weaker and the hardening of the arteries had fogged his once sharp mind. Mustering all of his strength and insistency, he looked me square in the eyes.

"I want to go home and lay down in the sun on the south lawn."

"Home" was the family homestead where he grew up in northern Vermont. He was born there. His mother died there. One of his last surviving sisters still lived there. It would have been a 5 hour drive by ambulance to get him there and no realistic way to grant him this wish. That just killed me.

He died in his sleep at the nursing home a few short weeks later. I had arrived at the nursing home for my nearly daily visit before the nurses had even been able to resettle his body after his death rattle. They allowed me to spend some time with him like that. His mouth was open in a last call out and his right arm and hand were raised as if he were reaching for something or someone from above.

A few weeks later, his second wife called me to their house and she gave me his old Johnson Woolen Mills jacket. "He wanted you to have it."

Several years past. My great aunt passed. The family homestead was shut up, waiting for somebody in the family to take it over. Old stuff was parceled out to various family members and more mementos were claimed. After waiting long enough to ensure that all the sons and cousins had found what they wanted, I went up for hunting season and went into the old homestead. I went upstairs to the closet and found the rag-tag blue Pan-Am bag just were I put it many years ago. I open it up and found a mouse nest in his old hat and what was left of gloves. But at the bottom of the bag I found the knife.


grandpas-hunter by Pinnah, on Flickr

I took it. Didn't bother to ask. There was only one person who's opinion on the subject mattered to me and I knew what he would have said. His stuff is all together now.


grandpas-stuff by Pinnah, on Flickr

 

[Simple Man]

Man, the dust is bad here, allergies are kickin up.....Good memories pinnah.

 

[Doug Add]

I have told this one before, but I think it fits here as well.

I was introduced to pocket knives by my dad's dad. My parents were teenagers when I was born, and my My dad's parents lived just four houses down from us, almost exactly half way home from my school. Most days I stopped there and piddled around with my grandma for the half hour or so until my granddad got home from work. She turned 93 last month, and is one of my dearest friends in the whole world. When my grandad got home from work the adventures began! He taught me so much about so many things. It really was like growing up with two loving fathers. Considering how many kids today don't even know who their dad is, I count this a rare privilege.

He always had a knife in his pocket, and of course that made me want one so badly I did not know what to do. I saved my money from mowing lawns and delivering newspapers, went up to James Hardware and bought my very own pocket knife, a Colonial barlow. It was a cheap knife but he raved about it like it was the finest blade any man had ever made.

Knives were just one of things Grandad and I shared and enjoyed. So, it made perfect sense to give him a knife for Christmas. I had no idea it would he his last Christmas with us.

I gave him a Schrade Walden 708Y, the one that is pictured in my avatar, for Christmas in 1971, when I was 9 and he was 59. The next autumn he died unexpectedly the result of complications following open heart surgery. I couldn't believe it. My best friend gone.

Weeks after his untimely death Christmas came again. It was a subdued celebration, but we kept all the family traditions. Each year on Christmas Eve our whole family would gather at my grandparents' home for dinner. After we ate, and before my sisters and cousins and I opened presents we all sat silently while Grandad read the Christmas story from the second chapter of Luke's Gospel. That Christmas of 1972, our first without him, I was honored to be asked by my grandmother to continue his tradition and read the Christmas story to the family from Grandad's Bible. I now have his Bible. When we opened gifts I received from Grandma the Schrade Walden knife I had given to him the year before.

So, here is the last gift I gave Grandad, pretty insignificant compared to all that he gave me in 10 all-too-short years. It is one of my most treasured possessions. In the picture it is sitting on his Bible open to the Christmas story in the second chapter of Luke.

 

[pinnah]

Doug, that pretty well nails it. Great story.

 

[richstag]

Caleb,

I didn't even realize this was a giveaway when reading your story. I just want to say, as I know you are aware, you are mighty lucky to have had such a great friend in your life growing up. I have no doubt he must have treasured your friendship as well. Your story really warmed my heart. It reminded me of an old man I used to visit and I know the feeling of not wanting to be given anything. For the friend to realize you really are there for the visit ( I have a feeling they do know that or they would not be gracious). It is great to see how much you cherish the relationships in your life. To me, thats what its all about.

Thanks,

Kevin

 

[richstag]

Also, a huge congrats on the new job. Good luck in your ventures my friend.

 

[black mamba]

Some time ago there was a thread on here about your longest running EDC. Well, when I was younger and much less affluent, I only owned a couple of knives, and carried a Gerber Silver Knight for over a decade. Unfortunately I lost it, and mentioned it in the thread.

Shortly after that I got a PM from Ed J asking what my preferences were about some knives, and what my address was. Pretty soon I received a Gerber Silver Knight from Ed that was very close to the one I had lost. Because of his compassion, this is a very special knife to me, and it always gets used at Christmas time for opening presents-- a fitting memorial for this heartfelt gift. I have received more expensive knives as gifts, but none more special.

Thanks for the chance, johnny.

 

[Vanguard41xx]

Thanks for the chance! I loved reading the posts in this thread.

This knife was given to me by my son a while back. I had mentioned I was looking for a corn knife (as I am a physician) so he took a lot of time looking on eBay for one and out of the blue it was gifted to me.

 

[johnny twoshoes]

Awesome stories so far guys, keep it up.

 

[Doug Add]

JT, I posted twice. If that is not allowable in this giveaway, then just put one of my post numbers in the hat. I didn't see a one post restriction, but don't want to do anything to violate the spirit of your story and your generous giveaway.

And obviously don't count this post as an entry.

 

[confucius37]

The first knife ever given to me was by my dad. I was heading out to an overnight summer camp like I usually did when I was young, except this time it was a backpacking trip. It was my first backpacking trip and I was excited to say the least. On the list of items to bring was included a "small pocket knife" as if I wasn't excited enough! I eagerly brought the list to my dad and said "look, look, they said I NEED a pocket knife!!" My dad always carried a lockback knife on his belt, usually it was a copy of a buck 110 or something similar. My dad wasn't the type to go out and buy something new if he already had something that works so he gave me one of his older lockbacks, it certainly wasn't a "small" pocket knife, but I gotta say I felt pretty good about myself carrying that thing around.

Turns out it was just the ticket, I used the knife to whittle many a pointy stick on the trip and I even got the chance to clean some trout that we caught in a stream near a lake. I still remember whittling a stick as we were walking, my hips were bruised and I was tired, but whittling the stick kept my mind off the pain and I just kept on walking. I had a great time on that trip, I don't have the knife anymore, but the memory is still there.

 

[johnny twoshoes]

Doug, I may just pick the story I like the most.
I'm not sure on just how I'm going to choose who picks first, but we'll get there in a couple weeks.