Here's my story of finding my press button knife. Hope you enjoy the story....

We stopped at a flea market this weekend in our travels around the NY finger lakes region. Of course, Jodi and Paige were ecstatic about that. Not really! Those two had disgust in their eyes while they rolled back in their heads as we passed the flea signs and the swarm of people along the road. Owen and I didn’t let that stop us from bounding from the truck even before I got it stopped. We dodged some oncoming traffic and crossed the road in a flash. With a plan of attack, Owen and I wandered through the park like setting. A cool breeze in the shady areas added to our joy of this adventure. With only 30 minutes to spare in our timeline for the day, Owen and I walked with purpose. The girls, who had even dilly dallied around getting out of the truck, have some how caught and now passed us in our search of the tables and tents. We left no area unsearched and even paid our respect to the few vendors in the full sun. As we completed our sweep of the last row of tables tucked under a pavilion, and the girls already back in the truck ready to leave, we found some items of interest. There were some military items and a scout book that caused us to pause. The vendor approached for some small talk and I made my way to the back of his table. I spied a small leather sheath and picked it up. Noticing the knife inside was snug in there, I handed it to the guy and asked him to remove it. What emerged was a beautiful antique knife with mother of pearl handles. Complete and pristine condition, it sparkled before my eyes. He proceeded to tell me it’s a push button switchblade that his grandparents had. With a click, the blade appeared from this hundred year old knife. The blade didn’t make to locked in setting but a respectable halfway good effort for its age. We talked about what he might want for it. He stated all sorts of numbers with the lowest a possibility for thought. We changed the subject to our interest in BSA scouting items. A hidden shoebox sized plastic tub was recovered from under the table labeled ‘Scout Stuff.’ It was packed full of patches and goodies. Owen and I started going through it. Handfuls of baggies with assorted patches emerged. We started setting aside and attempting to cherry pick the box. Now the sweat, not from the sun, is starting to bead on my forehead as I know the girls are ready to leave this place of dread and ‘waste of time.’ I could hear the clock ticking in my ears or maybe that was my pulse rising in fear of a phone call from the truck. I blurted out, like a student that knows the answer, “HOW MUCH FOR EVERYTHING?” The knife too the vendor asked? “YES!” Owen pounced on the vendors delayed response to add even another BSA item that he spied on the table. It was an exciting moment for the vendor and myself too. He gave me a number and i counter offered a couple bucks off, as if I had done my own appraisal of his wears. We shook hands and settled the deal. We quickly piled the treasures into the box and slapped on the lid just as my phone alerted me with missed text messages and a pleading phone call of “are you headed to the truck yet?” We spent the next hours gathered with family pouring over our finds and googling similar knives. What an exciting find! To date we have an offer to sell it for more than triple our investment.

To date we still have knife and currently my family wants my son and I to keep it.