About ten years ago my mother asked me if I wanted my first knife, and of course I did. She brought out a small made in Japan (which in 1950 meant cheap) pot-metal fixed blade clip point with plastic imitation stag handle slabs pinned on, and a compass in the left-side slab. she said that it had been given to me on my fourth birthday.
I said that I supposed that I could only handle it with supervision, and she said, "Oh, no. Your daddy turned you loose with it." I have never been without a knife since then (I will be 69 next week.) In the intervening 65 years I have never cut myself beyond a small nick with a knife.
Dad was the same guy that turned me completely loose with a 12 gauge single shot Iver Johnson when I was eight. (I was a large kid and could handle the gun just fine.) he always treated me as if I was completely trustworthy, so I sought to not let him down.
I said that I supposed that I could only handle it with supervision, and she said, "Oh, no. Your daddy turned you loose with it." I have never been without a knife since then (I will be 69 next week.) In the intervening 65 years I have never cut myself beyond a small nick with a knife.
Dad was the same guy that turned me completely loose with a 12 gauge single shot Iver Johnson when I was eight. (I was a large kid and could handle the gun just fine.) he always treated me as if I was completely trustworthy, so I sought to not let him down.
