My Old Friend the Pocket Knife
My old friend, my "Uncle Henry" knife, has been with me most of my days. No matter what, through thick and thin, I have had him in my pocket for sixty-four years. I received my first knife the same day I received my first wallet. I lost the wallet the same day I received it. It was a sad ending for a nice birthday, October 5, 1948.
the young man soars --
Yes, just as one of those rides turned upside down my wallet fell, inside was change from a ten dollar bill. A bitter lesson, but one well learned. The gift from my dad --money I had saved. I also lost my newly gained stature ...the grown-up I now thought I was. Reaching into my front pocket I gained reassurance that at least the knife was still there. It was, and since then, I have had one with me everywhere except where they are not allowed.
with me always --
Oh it’s only used for minor things, like picking out a splinter or briar. I also use it opening letters. You know- -things like that. But strange as it sounds, when I don’t have it on me I no longer feel whole, like something is missing. I have developed a strange attachment to it. More than an attachment it is a feeling of kinship. I have had many in my lifetime. Some I lost the day they came out of the box. But, no matter how many, each one is still my one and only knife, my Uncle Henry. And for some reason, I feel, I have never had but one-- the one I have now.
note: This is modern haiku. It is very subjective to my feelings now of the emotions I had then. It may be factual or not but represents my remembrance of the event and the value I now place on it.