>>2220926When I was about ten I found a kershaw leek by an alpine lake somewhere in the cascades my dad and I had hiked into . It lay on the wet volcanic rock, warm from the summer sun. I'd never had by own real pocketknife before, until that point I had to borrow my brother's or work up the nerve to ask for my dad's. Too excited to keep it to myself, I triumphantly thrust it before my father's gaze. My elation soured though, as I watched his face. It went from keen interest to a concerned frown as the blade flew from its handle, sharp and ready in an instant. My ten year old mind reeled, of course my parents wouldnt let me have a switchblade as a first knife! If only I had had it in my hands just a minute more before volunteering its confiscation!
My dad turned the knife over and over in his hands, thinking as he thumbed the razor sharp blade. Unbelievably, he unlocked it, folded it, and offered it loosely back to me.
"That's a nice knife, dont lose it"
The next couple year just the excuse to go out, out! Somewhere where I could cut sticks and brambles and whittle "swords" fostered within me a deep love of nature.
It was senior year of high school when I lent a friend that knife on a hike. I went to take a pee, and when I got back i asked for its return. Mortified and patting every pocket , he said he couldn't find it. We searched for the better part of an hour, to no avail. Amongst the anguish of loss, a small part of me had to smile, knowing this must have been the scene just before it found it's way into my hands.
Take comfort op. Gifts and moments are signatures of time, brief but everlasting. Vehicles for memories and skills you still possess. With any luck, you knife is out there still stalwartly making more.
