The first knife I ever had was a small, 3 blade stockman. Growing up, there was a couple who lived one apartment over from us, who my dad was always helping out, because they were elderly. The husband (I can't remember his name now) was a WWII Navy vet, and one weekend, my dad and I were in their apartment, helping him build a cabinet. When we were done, he gave the knife to me as "payment". My dad always refused to accept money from him, so he would always give him a tool or two instead. After he died, his wife Anita gave my dad his entire tool collection, that he'd collected over the course of his life.
I carried that knife every single day for 10 years, learned how to sharpen knives by hand, and used it for every conceivable use except self defense, until the NYPD stole it from me when I was 19. I'm still angry about it.