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YOUR first knife

Do you remember YOUR first knife. Not a knife that you borrowed from your father but one that was actually YOURS. One that you BOUGHT or that was GIVEN to you.

How did it become YOUR knife! Do you still have it?

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Permalink Reply by Ken Spielvogel on October 10, 2013 at 16:32

How I got started:An 8 year old boys brother who was 10 years older than he, gave a very special gift once. The brother came home from the Navy in 1956 on leave and brought his younger brother a 4 blade Imperial knife. The boy was so excited he cut himself with it that very day. His Mother took it away for awhile, and in about a year gave it back. The boy carried it proudly and loved that knife. One day in the 5th grade the teacher had the students do handstands, while the boy was attempting his turn, you guessed it, the knife fell out of his pocket. The teacher took it away. The boys Mother went to the school and got it back. The boy again carried it proudly thru many years. Today, that very knife is in the boys collection and one of his prized knives. Not because of the value of it, but because of the great story it tells and in memory of the one who gave it. That 8 year old boy was me.

From then on - thru Boy Scouts, School, and Farm Work I used a knife a good bit but thought not much beyond the knife in my pocket - which for the most part was that first knife.

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Permalink Reply by Tobias Gibson on October 11, 2013 at 10:10

That's a great story, Ken.

The strange thing for me is I remember playing mumblety peg, growing up in Florida when I was around 8 or 9 years old but the knife must've been some else's. From Florida we moved to Texas and Kentucky and spent a heck of a lot of time in the woods. But even then I didn't have a knife of my own. I recall often taken a paring knife from kitchen drawer when we went hiking or fishing.

When we moved to Chicago and I ended up going to a high- school plagued with race riots, many of the other guys I knew carried a lock-back stiletto. Not me. I had a boning knife from the kitchen drawer in my boot. (The sheath was made of cardboard and electrical tape) Why the lack of an good pocket knife? We were dirt poor!

The first knife I could call my very own was the knife my father bought me for Christmas when I was 16. My Dad had served in the Army in WWII and then in 1947 became part of the newly formed U.S. Air Force. He remained in the Air force until 1969. I was around 11 when he retired but by then I was a bona-fide Air Force brat and there was no doubt I was going in the service. I was 16, in my junior of high school and was already involved with a College ROTC program participating in Land Navigation, rappelling, and leaning the art of Patrolling, thanks to a older brother three years my senior. I don't know what the other Boys in school did during the Christmas break but I spent in Ft. McCoy Wisconsin on 5 day patrol in three feet of snow and temps ranging between 0 and 25 degrees! (-17 C to -3 C).

A week or so later Christmas came and My Father had bought my Brother and I the same thing for Christmas. A Camillus Mk 2 Fighting Knife! He said it was the same knife that was issued to him when he was a BAR gunner in WWII. (He was with the 3rd Infantry Division at that time)

Below the First and the Sixth knife that I could call my own!

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Permalink Reply by Ken Spielvogel on October 11, 2013 at 10:15

Super Super story Tobias, that was some knife to call your very own and your first. I bet that upbringing formed your great character that you have now. Thanks for sharing.

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Permalink Reply by John McDowell on October 11, 2013 at 10:26

mine was a boker barlow,given by my grandpap when i was 7.dont have the knife any longer but i have the memory and a soft spot for barlows.thats what started me on this journey we call knife collecting.

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In MemoriamPermalink Reply by John McCain on December 28, 2013 at 16:17

My first knife was a Case brown bone stockman I bought from Western Auto when I was 8 or 9 (similar to this photo) circa 1960. Carried it on the farm proudly, and, I too, used to play mumbly peg with it. My dad used to give me heck every time he caught me, because he considered a knife a tool and thought I would harm the blades sticking it in the dirt.But what the heck, with one blade on half open, you had 3 chances out of 4 to stick it. LOL That knife meant a lot to me and I don't remember how I came to lose it.I also can not explain how I came to collect Case trappers, when my first knife was a stockman ??