Archive for month: June, 2023

On our customary walk around the neighborhood, Ari, my grandson, picked up a stick in the road. Our little troop consisted of me, Ari, my wife Annie, and Ayla the dog. Ari walked along for a few paces, then with a mighty swing heaved the stick deep into the woods. Ayla wasn’t interested in pursuing it.

At the time Ari was wearing my father’s gold watch, which I hadn’t seen in years. He had recently discovered it during one of his periodic rifles through my filing cabinet. As I recall, it was a traditional retirement present for my dad’s long-time government service. I can’t remember whether it was inscribed, or if it was real gold. Ari had asked to wear it, and of course I said, why not. I liked the idea that he was connecting with his great-grandfather.

As might be anticipated, even on the smallest setting the metal band didn’t fit very snugly on his wrist. So when Ari flung the stick, the watch was flung too, closely following the stick on its sylvan trajectory. He was immediately filled with remorse, and apologized profusely. But I considered it a freak accident, not even a careless one, and reassured him that he hadn’t done anything wrong. The three of us began an intensive search, but mirroring her lack of interest in the stick, Ayla wasn’t inclined to help with the recovery operation. We spent about 20 minutes bushwacking, kicking up leaves, and looking for golden glints in the undergrowth. But the watch didn’t manifest. Over the next week we continued searching, but to no avail.

Briefly I thought, should I organize a search party? Set up a series of grids to systematically scour the woods? Rent a metal detector? But I realized I didn’t have enough motivation to do any of these things. The watch had been languishing in a cardboard box in a filing cabinet for many years; the only reason it surfaced was because of Ari’s marauding. It’s not like I took it out every year or two to remember my father. And to be honest, I found it rather ugly. Moreover, I dislike metal watchbands; I was never interested in wearing it. Still, it didn’t occur to me to have it appraised to see if it was really gold; I certainly wouldn’t have pawned a family heirloom to make a few bucks!

Apart from its potential monetary value, did dad’s watch have “sentimental value”? Theoretically, perhaps. But judging by how often I took it out of its box it probably didn’t have much, at least for me. So why was I keeping it at all? Are you kidding? How could I get rid of something that was awarded to my father, and that he wore, possibly for years? (Or did he actually ever wear it? I can’t remember.) Was I saving it for our kids or grandchildren? Well frankly, I’d be surprised if the kids would have wanted to be saddled with an ugly watch of uncertain intrinsic value. And I’d also be surprised if they felt much sentimental attachment to the watch that had been attached to their grandfather. And doubly so for the great grandchildren, one of whom was way too young to remember him, and the other wasn’t yet born when he died.

In fact, were it to be miraculously recovered I can see how the watch would have been a burden to my progeny and their progeny. They too would probably be reluctant to offload such a thing. It would likely have ended up in another cardboard box, mashed together with other such inherited millstones, until while in the possession of some level of grands or greats the whole caboodle was accidently tossed during a move, or got soaked and then discarded after a plumbing leak, or was thrown away after the box had been colonized by mice. So maybe Ari actually did me and the entire family down through the generations a favor by disposing of at least one family heirloom.

I wonder what my father would have said if I could have asked him whether he wanted me to save his retirement watch. Who knows? But my guess is that he would have shrugged his patriarchal shoulders, shook his head, and said, “Why the hell would I care what you did with the damn watch?” Not terribly sentimental, my dear dad.

But still, even if I had my father’s sanction, disposing of such family heirlooms would be a difficult undertaking. Perhaps a compromise would be to digitally document susceptible items, then trash the originals so they don’t weigh down the inheritors. For years I’ve actually been thinking about doing this for each of my parents’ stacks of diplomas. (I have all of the diplomas commemorating my father’s sequence of science degrees—BS, MS, PhD. With glee, he once told the young me that they stood for “Bull Shit,” ”More of the Same,” and “Piled higher and Deeper.” Like I said, dad wasn’t the sentimental type. Fortunately my mother’s degrees weren’t in science, so they weren’t susceptible to the same explication.) My plan has been to take nice photos of all the diplomas, which are encased in rather large, deteriorating frames with peeling brown paper backing, then discard them. The digital images could then be stored in the electronic equivalent of a filing cabinet drawer, likely to be accidently discovered and fleetingly viewed, when a grandkid is rifling through his grandfather’s antique hard drive. Well at least they won’t take up very much room that way.

Anyway, perhaps the most meaningful family heirlooms aren’t the physical ones. Maybe they are the legacy of the ancestor’s personality and character, their humor, and values. In other words, what they leave for subsequent generations not in the way of watches, but by example. More important than documentation of their academic achievements is the wisdom my parents acquired in the course of their lives, which they passed on to me to incorporate into my life, and which I, in turn, will hopefully pass on to my kids and grandkids.

Now I appreciate that in addition to all the good things, I may have inherited a deficit of sentimentality from my dad. So if anyone feels that my father’s watch deserves to be recovered and has the motivation to do so, please let me know and I’ll send you the GPS coordinates of the toss site. I understand that renting a metal detector is pretty cheap.