Speaking of pocketknives.... How about something extremely special, sentimental, and almost brings a tear to your eye?
This was my dad's old 1973 Schrade 787 Improved Muskrat folding pocketknife. I remember it well, as I was 12 years old and was with him at the camp store up in the Adirondacks of northern New York when we were camping, and he bought it. This old knife has a serious history... It cut fishing line, cut ropes, and miraculously whittled out a nail from a tree (broke the tip off the blade - which is why it looks shorter), when the cotter pin busted on the old 5½hp Johnson Seahorse outboard, when my dad and I were fishing. We paddled to shore, and he found a nail in a tree, and whittled it out free. He used a rock to bend the nail around as a makeshift cotter pin, and we made it back to the campsite. Later on, he took this same Schrade knife to his bench grinder, and ground down the one blade, smooth, angled, so it looks just a hair shorter than the other one.
Tragically, my dad passed away from Congestive Heart Failure in May of 2002. We "kids" all rushed down to be with our mom. I was the first to arrive. She held out this very same pocketknife (which was in my dad's pants pocket in the hospital) and she said with tears in her eyes, "He wanted to you to have this". I took the pocketknife, put it my own pants pocket, hugged my mom, and... well... I'm not ashamed. I lost it, and cried like a baby.