I drove my poor old mother crazy with pocket knives. She used to confiscate them from me when she could catch me with one. Most of them were Barlow because the little store down the road sold Barlow knives and I could afford them. My mother never liked the idea of me walking around with knives, but she finally gave in and just told me not to cut myself. When I was about 24 years old the (ex) wife and I were visiting the folks and the women were looking for all the embarrassing things about me when I was a young kid that mothers save.. (you know the ones.. photographs of me making muscles, in swim trunks, short cut hair, valentines to mother we had to make in first grade...).. anyway my mother came out of the back storage bedroom with a cigar box and handed it to me. Inside were seven pocket knives. She always told me she threw them away, but I should have known better. My mother never threw ANYTHING away.