When I was quite a small boy, a number of us were hoeing cotton one day. We had stopped at the end of the rows to get a drink and sharpen our hoes. Playfully, Frank picked me up and pretended he was going to throw me over the fence and out into the county road. Well, he swung me over the fence and stood me on my feet down in some weeds. And there between my feet was a beautiful little pocket knife. This seemed almost too good to be true. I was the happiest little boy in the whole wide world. I guess every boy wants a pocket knife, and I had one--all my very own. The others all looked at the knife and wished they had one like it. Jokingly, Frank said the knife was half his because, if he hadn't pitched me over the fence, I wouldn't have found it. So, a few days later, when he asked if he could borrow it, naturally, I loaned it to him, not because I thought it was half his, but because he was my brother and wanted to borrow it. Frank was going to school at Hamlin at that time and when I thought it was time for him to return my knife, he told me that a boy in town had borrowed it and wouldn't give it back. And that was the end of my knife. Now, did I hate Frank for what he had done? Of course not. I was too young to hate. Hurt, yes, but hate, never! I still loved Frank just as much as I ever did. And it was the same when he had to correct me. I loved him just as much while he was whipping me as I did before he began and after he stopped. At any rate, my little knife was gone for sure. But a few weeks later, I dreamed one night that I found another knife, just about like the first one. And, as before, I dreamed I found it by the fence at the end of our cotton rows. I dreamed I put the knife in my pocket. The next morning when I woke up, I went and searched my pockets, but the knife wasn't there. A few weeks later I dreamed of finding still another pocket knife. And I dreamed that I remembered having dreamed of finding the first one but had lost it by putting it in my pocket instead of holding onto it. So this time I clutched it tightly in my hand. This time, I reasoned, it could not possibly get away from me, even though I seemed to know I was dreaming. I felt sure there just had to be a way to pass from asleep to awake and bring that knife with me. But when I woke up, I was disappointed again and had to conclude that it just couldn't be done. After that decision, I began putting my dreams to better use. When I dreamed a dream, and I seemed to realize that I was dreaming, I would do things to entertain other kids--things no one else could do, like sliding down the roof of a big barn, dropping off the edge, and just before I hit the ground, I would close my eyes so the fall wouldn't hurt me.