My Old Friend the Pocket Knife

Written by: Charles Henderson

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.

my knife 
with me always --
security blanket

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.