There is not a day I do not use my pocket knife. Today I was working on a John Deere mower, BTW this has been an albatross for about 5 years. It is Mark’s mower but taking up space here. Finally it is running and mowing. So I am doing the trim, pretty stuff. The paint on a JD is very thick, like a plastic coat. The paint has turned loose in spots and I used my knife to trim it out, and touch up the paint.
As I looked at the knife, I thought, what a history in this small utility tool.
I’ve made whistles, some folk have made art.
I am from an era when EVERY boy in school, from early childhood had a knife in his pocket. Hundreds of boys, and no one that I know of was ever cut in anger. Plenty of self inflicted small cuts, but none to your peers.
It trimmed and cleaned my fingernails. It opened boxes and sharpened my pencils. It was used to cut sticks for roasting wieners. It cut sticks for my homemade kites. I passed hours just throwing it at boards to try to hit a target and stick it in the wood. Counting the swirls per step. Fun for a kid. I cut my name in trees.
I was a doctor, operating and removing the stubborn splinters boys get. It was handy to cut the perfect sling-shot prongs spotted in a dogwood tree.
(Just plain whittling!)
Daddy taught me to use it to skin a rabbit at six years old, and I furnished supper a couple times from my rabbit boxes before we moved to the city. In town I used it to remove nails and glass from my bicycle tires before patching the tube.
Plug a watermelon, clean a fish, cut tent stakes and poles. The pocket knife was ALWAYS there. I liked what Gary said when Debbie asked him did he have his knife?
“Got my pants on don’t I?” That was a fact for more years than I can count. Now you cannot enter a court house or board a plane with a pocket knife. A testimony to our world today. Kids today will never know the responsibility of using a knife, of keeping it sharp and clean. They will never know the thrill of seeing it shave some hair from your arm to prove it is sharp.
This did not make production.
1959 Cadillac Cyclone. I must admit, this dream car is not a dream to me. BUT I WOULD DRIVE IT!