I've told this story before, but here it goes again...
When I was six my grandfather handed me a brown leather sheath, telling me that a good fisherman needs a good knife. I opened it up and this huge hunk of wood and steel and brass fell out into my hands. The knife was at least 15 years old when he gave it to me in 1987, but it was in beautiful condition, and still is.
For a long time Buck meant knife to me, and to some extent it still does. Others came and went, but that first 110 was a constant companion. These days I don't carry my 110s anymore because I've come to dislike carrying a folder in a sheath, but the 110s are still my favorites just to play with.