At around 10, my godfather gifted me a german scout knife : a hunter with a small brass guard, Solingen steel blade (4" !!!) with sawback, antler handle and aluminium pommel. In those days, every man carried a pocket knife, at least in the countryside. But I'm still wondering why he opted for such a relatively bold knife for a boy instead of a small SAK which would've been totally traditional. Whatever, I fell in love with that knife and carried it whenever I could. I used it to build shelters in the woods, to whittle, saw planks, cut string, rope and cardboard and to make chopping contests with my friends. Very surprisingly, I never did any nonsense with this knife (although I did a lot of dumb s**t in those early years...). Since then, a knife has always belonged in my life. There have been many, there have been few, sometines none but never too long. Carrying and using a knife still makes me happy in a way very oddly similar to the joy I had with that Solingen scout knife.