My knife is very special to me, and I carry it everywhere I go (except if I have to fly on a plane...).
This is a 1973 Schrade 787 Improved Muskrat folding pocket knife that belonged to my dad. I remember when he bought it up in the Adirondack Mts of New York when we went camping back then. He carried it in his pants pocket every single day, no matter where he was and no matter what he was doing. IBM executive business meetings in a suit... Scrambling to save someone's life with the volunteer rescue squad and ambulance... Outside on the lawnmower, mowing the lawn... He always had the pocket knife on him.
Now the reason it is very special to me, is because back on May 5, 2002, my beloved dad passed away at 80 years old. This very same pocket knife was in his pants pocket on that fateful trip to the hospital. When all of us "kids" rushed home to take care of mom, she talked to me about some of his last words. He told my mom that he wants me to have the pocket knife and continue carrying it. My mom held out the pocket knife to me and told me what he said, and then all I remember is taking the pocket knife and putting it in my pocket, hugging my mom, and then, well, you know, I just collapsed into tears...
