All My Old Shit

I have a fedora, a skull ring, a really great jean jacket, and a little engraved bracelet my mom gave me when I was 8 that says “MATTHEW” on one side and “LOVE MOM” on the other, she got it at a mall kiosk in a suburb of Chicago.

Somehow, I have managed to keep these artifacts from the life I’ve lived.

In some cultures, there would be no question on the value of a families possessions. The yolk for the ox is necessary—it’s service life transcends the poppa, and is passed through the generations. Everyone in the family benefits.

I have two types of things I could pass on to my kids:

Crap I’ve amassed along the way

I like my crap. Of highest value I would say is my road bike. It is a RAD bike. I built with a friend when I worked in a bike shop in Chicago. The steel frame was built to my body size; hand painted by colors I selected and spec’d out at every point along the way with a high (very high) attention to detail. It is a thing of beauty. Will Jacob think so too?

Crap my family amassed along the way

My family has gathered some really great stuff too. For example: I have my great aunt Idell’s toaster, her metal slotted spoon, dozens of her old handkerchiefs, Mary has some cashmere sweaters, and her “SHALOM” key chain ring which dangles by our door. I have Mary’s grandfather’s cufflinks that I wore in our wedding. Mary has a ring my mom wore. Will Elouise want all of this stuff?

For the first time in my life, I second-guess what I give away. Do I want to pass my fedora onto Jacob? I don’t have a watch. I use my phone. Will Jacob want my phone? What is the difference between my great grandfathers Bvlgari and my iPhone? Will my phone enchant my ancestry in the same way it does me? Will they even care? Do I need to go out and buy a nice watch to pass on?

What is captivating about the stuff is not only how it was made, the condition it was kept in, but that it was my grandfathers. Simply that he had it, in his possession, for some greater part of his life makes the object valuable to us.

So, once again, as I mature, my family starts to make more sense to me. I used to think my grandmother was CRAZY for always asking me what I wanted after she died. She asked what I liked, and I would get all nervous, did she think I visited her because I wanted her things? I didn’t know! It was all cool. It was all old. And hers. And welcoming and I wanted it to always be hers so that when I saw it, it meant that I was seeing her.

Which is exactly what she wanted.

It’s a good thing I was finally able to mutter out a few things I liked. Otherwise, she would have never known how much I liked this old Jack Daniels tin.