How the knife lost its innocence

I remember my first knife vividly. It actually belonged to my uncle, but after I had admired it for weeks and repeatedly begged to be allowed to hold it, one day he said, "You know what? I'll give it to you." The knife was of terrible quality, the handle poorly crafted, the blade unstable, but it came in a light brown leather sheath engraved with a magnificent deer. And because I was in my cowboys-and-Indians phase, I couldn't