I have a thing for pocket knives, have appreciated how they feel in the palm of my hand or in the pocket of my jeans since I was about six years old.

I even remember the first one I owned, a cheaply made knife that came free with a packet of socks my mom bought just before I started first grade.

I also remember how long I owned it until my mom took it away from me—about 30 minutes, the time it took for me to cut my finger but not long enough for me to wipe off the blood and pretend nothing had happened.

That was not the last time I cut my flesh instead of whatever I was whittling on, but I either learned to hide the evidence better or my mother gave up trying to prevent me from hurting myself. Those little cuts were nothing compared to the skinned knees, stubbed toes and briar scratches that were just part of an average day in rural Upstate South Carolina, especially in the summer.

I toted (one totes a pocket knife instead of carries it) an old one my dad gave me for years. It was a well-worn Case with one blade snapped off about half way up. It was still useful for scraping at things, which is how I got it in the first place. Dad let me use it to scrape old paint off some chairs he was refurbishing.

When I was grown enough, or as grown as I would ever get, to buy my own knives, I stuck with what my daddy always toted, Case double-x. I picked up a few other brands along the way – some with ag company logos etched on the blades, a few gifts from folks who weren’t clear about my brand loyalty. And I used them. I keep one, a lock-back Schrade with a leather sheath, in my fishing bag. It looks like the one Longmire killed an outlaw with, if you know who Walt Longmire is.

Related:Conservation methods can add to farmers’ bottom lines

Someone gave me an Old Timer, I suspect as a feeble attempt at humor. I have another, also a gift from a friend, that stays in my truck. It’s an emergency gizmo. In addition to a blade sharp enough to perform surgery, it has a seatbelt cutter and a windshield breaker. Hope I never need it, but I gave my wife and grandson one, just in case.

Over the years I’ve collected a dozen or more (My uncle has hundreds.) Case knives — Peanuts, Texas Toothpicks, Stockmen, Canoes, Fisherman, and my favorite, Trappers. I usually tote a red bone handle Trapper when I’m messing around the house. The others remain in their boxes. Sometimes I take them out and look at them. They remind me of my dad. I’m careful not to cut myself.