Pocketknife

I remember the excitement of getting my first pocket knife for cub scouts. The build-up to getting it was worse than waiting for Christmas. My first weapon. Something that would enable me to survive out in the vast untamed wilderness. I would be able to make traps, build forts, cut fishing line, drill holes, open cans and make buddy-burners. I bet I could take on a bear. I would be able to carve figurines with such exquisite detail that Michelangelo himself would turn green with envy.

There were many conversations with our Den Leader and mom and dad about the handling, care, and respect that a weapon of such potential mass destruction and power warranted. Proper use and proper closure of such surgically sharpened steel blades was covered over and over and over.

The day came.

I remember carefully opening the box it came in, sliding out the pristine unsoiled treasure. It had a slight oily sheen on it which smelled like steely adventure. The handle was dark blue and textured for grip. The small brass placard on one side had a wolf on it which stared captivatingly back at me, knowingly, daringly. There was a steel loop that was riveted to the end which would make it handy to clip to my belt for easy access in an emergency. I, my self, was riveted. I finally possessed the most coveted item a cub scout could be blessed with.

I opened all the tools and blade. I marveled at the shine and precision of such magnificent engineering. I was enchanted. My luck felt as sharp as the blade edge.

Having sufficiently admired every inch of my treasure, I closed the awl first, then the can opener, the screwdriver next, then the blade, right across my finger.

It didn’t hurt as it went in, but then the blood came. I let out a wail which I quickly stifled, after all, I couldn’t have my new treasure confiscated. I grabbed a dirty sock from the laundry hamper and wrapped it around my gushing finger and headed to the bathroom. I felt relieved that I had earned my first aid belt slide badge. Everything was under control. Several Band-Aids later, knife in pocket, I was out the door, off into the orchard to take on the world and find adventure.

Now, all I needed was a hatchet.

Nordski