My dad never did anything with my brother or I, I could literally count on my hands how many times he actually went out of his way to spend a few moments even throwing a ball. He was good at gifting us with items a boy would treasure and very lenient about allowing me to go afield with my .22 at around 12 years and a shotgun a few years later.
He gave me a beautiful Kabar folding fisherman with hook sharpener in the handle and KABAR in red letters, I cherished that knife and had carried a knife for years and was taught my an elderly uncle how to keep a knife razor sharp. A buddy of mine asked me if I wanted to go fishing with him in the morning, I said "Hell Yeah!" He said "bring your bike, sleeping bag and gear over tonight we leave before sun-up"
Next morning still dark we got on our bikes and took off, I asked him where we were going he said "Its a secret, you gotta swear you won't tell noboby." I swore, scouts honor all that ****. We ended up at this nice pasture that had tall grass and a little crick flowing through it. There were signs all over the place saying "STAY OUT!" PRIVATE PROPERTY. I said "Paul, can't you read them signs?" He says "Hush! Come here let me show you something." We ditched out bikes in the weeds and stumbled through the barbed wire fence, he walked over to one of the signs and pointed to the back side and said "What does this side of the sign say?" I looked at it and said "It don't say nuthin." He looked at me a grinned "This side was made for you and me." "Come on, I want to show you something." He started catchin hoppers and said "just catch the little ones." We each had a handful of hoppers and walked over to the crick, it was only about three feet across and quite deep, grass grew right out over the edges, real pretty, some willow trees within a hundred yards or so. He said "Watch this." He stuck a little hopper on one of the wee hooks we had just sorta flipped it onto the crick where it dapped onto the surface and floated maybe a foot or so, there was a splash and he had a trout thrashin on the grass, I followed suit and in less than 10 minutes we had half dozen trout each gasping on the grass. We needed something to string the fish on so I went over to the willows and cut a forked willow branch, came back and quick gutted and cleaned the fish stuck them on the willow branch to carry out. I stuck the knife into a small log and was washing my hands in the crick when I heard a big dog growl and turned to see a bigassed dog and old man and my buddy Paul, the old man had ahold of Pauls shirt and flung him over towards me and said "Hows fishin son?" I said "Well-sir it was pretty good." He said "This heres my land, you boys leave them fish and get off my property quick before I set this dog on you." We grabbed our gear and ran for our bikes, about halfway back I turned around and yelled "Your a mean ole sumbitch." My buddy Paul who had just lost his grandpa to cancer yelled "You should get cancer and die." We laughed like maniacs, got through the fence and we riding for all we were worth when it hit me MY KNIFE! I jammed on the brakes and turned around, Paul turned around and said "What are doing?" I told him "I left my knife back and I'm goin back" He said "That ole sumbitch will put that dog on us or worse." I told him "I don't care, Dad gave me that knife." We rode back, Paul stayed with the bikes, I ran out into the field, it was full on daylight by now, no dog, no old man and as I was to soon find out no knife, I walked down to the willows bound and determined to get my knife back but could not find the old man nor any sign of him the dog or his house. I learned a valuable lesson that day...and to this day I probably have half dozen of those knives collected, none are the same as the one Dad gave me.