Pocketknives (and scars) remain a childhood rite

I asked my son Sawyer to open a package, knowing he’d have a pocketknife on him.

Sawyer got his first pocketknife for his 10th birthday from his friend, Luc. Luc’s parents, Scott and Kat, asked my permission before buying it — for a good reason.

Luc had received his first pocketknife for his 10th birthday two years earlier. Sawyer was at his party, and the boys “oohed” when Luc opened it.

For generations of kids, a pocketknife is a rite of passage.

The boys at the party “oohed” again when Luc cut open his thumb. “He had it about 10 seconds before he cut himself,” his friend Will, who gave it to Luc, said.

That, too, apparently is a rite of passage. Luc got his thumb stitched up at an urgent care and returned, a wounded warrior, for the sleepover.

So I chuckled when Scott and Kat asked about giving Sawyer a pocketknife. But I said yes.

At Sawyer’s party, the kids “oohed” when he opened the pocketknife. Sawyer asked Luc to regale them with the story of his injury.

Later, Sawyer and I talked about how it was a tool, not a toy. We read up on how to handle it safely. I set rules about when and where he could use it.

In letting Sawyer have the pocketknife, I was telling him he was old enough to be trusted. There was something about having it that empowered

Sawyer. He was suddenly capable.

“Need that string cut?” he’d ask. He used his pocketknife to tighten screws, scrape gunk and slice pears.

Over the years, Sawyer received other pocketknives. One with more attachments from his dad. A multi-tool from our friend Arch.

Now 21, Sawyer uses one still, for stripping wire, opening bottles, severing zip ties ... and opening packages for his mother.

No stitches ever required.