- Joined
- Oct 26, 2013
- Messages
- 28
I'd like to be in.
My story is of the first knife I was ever trusted enough to own, a SAK Climber (I believe) that was bought for me by my parents when we were on holiday in Switzerland. I had been poring over the SAK leaflet for months (the thing was so worn that it nearly gave way at the folds) and I had circled it, and pestered my poor parents about wanting one, and how I'd read about knife safety and I wouldn't do anything daft with it...
Anyway: it was bought for me, and engraved with my name right in front of me on the street, and I loved it and whittled with it and carried it (when allowed) for maybe two years before I slipped it in my pocket when going to the playground. I went, and I had a whale of a time, and I sat in a corner of the field for a bit and whittled, and then I set off home. When I got back I realised that my pockets were lighter than they should have been, and I ran off out again and searched the field and the playground up and down for what felt like hours, before giving up and setting off home to let my parents know I had lost it.
It still sticks with me as something I really wish I hadn't lost, because as both a gift from my parents and the first knife I owned it would be a lovely thing to treasure now. On the other hand, a first knife should be a learning tool, and I haven't outright lost a knife since then!
My story is of the first knife I was ever trusted enough to own, a SAK Climber (I believe) that was bought for me by my parents when we were on holiday in Switzerland. I had been poring over the SAK leaflet for months (the thing was so worn that it nearly gave way at the folds) and I had circled it, and pestered my poor parents about wanting one, and how I'd read about knife safety and I wouldn't do anything daft with it...
Anyway: it was bought for me, and engraved with my name right in front of me on the street, and I loved it and whittled with it and carried it (when allowed) for maybe two years before I slipped it in my pocket when going to the playground. I went, and I had a whale of a time, and I sat in a corner of the field for a bit and whittled, and then I set off home. When I got back I realised that my pockets were lighter than they should have been, and I ran off out again and searched the field and the playground up and down for what felt like hours, before giving up and setting off home to let my parents know I had lost it.
It still sticks with me as something I really wish I hadn't lost, because as both a gift from my parents and the first knife I owned it would be a lovely thing to treasure now. On the other hand, a first knife should be a learning tool, and I haven't outright lost a knife since then!