Boyhood

Ah, my first pocket knife. The responsibility. The privilege. The trust. Its blade was only a couple of inches, but a couple of inches of unbounded opportunity. The carving in the thick pine trunk. The milky blood left running down sharpened steel and bark empowered me. The world would know I existed. Jeff was here. My mark was left on the tree for what I thought would be eternity. My knife, capable and strong.