My house is burning down. What one “object” would I take? Something for survival? Something expensive? Naw.
It would break my heart to leave behind all of the mementos—(cards my kids and grandkids gave me over the years, school art projects, 20 gawdy “fathers day” neckties , etc), but I would. So, what do I grab, then? Something that can’t be replaced? Yep. Something where the person associated with it is gone.
Still, this is a tough one. Hey, I have lots of my Dad’s stuff, maybe one of those things? Nah, Dad is part of my DNA, my soul, so he’s always with me. What about the old WWI gun holster my Grandma gave us to play with as kids? Nah. How about that plaque, or the catcher’s mitt I wrote about in past essays? Uh-uh. What then?
I’ll tell ya what, I think I’d grab my old trusty .22 revolver. That old 1950’s model J.C. Higgins revolver from the Sears catalog is not worth 50 bucks at a gun show. It is beaten up, and somewhat the worse for wear, just like the old man who gave it to me, my Father in Law, Milt. Milt carried it on his hip in the woods for many years, and he was doggone good with it. I never saw him miss. I was lucky enough to see him use it, and use it with him, several times over the years.
When we first started dating, Mama insisted I meet Milt right away. She said I HAD to meet him... but she wasn't as worried as I was. "You'll like my Daddy" she told me. Well, she was right, I did like her Daddy. And more than that, I respected him. Milt and I spent a lot of time together over the years, talking, gossiping, gardening, shooting, and swapping stories. To me, that old revolver is more than memories, it is a little piece of Milt. He wanted me to have it, and made sure to give it to me before he passed away. I will make sure that one of my grandkids will have it some day. IF… they can stand my stories about an old man who could catch any fish he wanted, grow a world class vegetable garden, and never miss with his old revolver. That .22 is a piece of history, of days already largely gone when I came along, both in America in general, and in our family. It is something I can hold, and think about what those hunts Milt went on must have been like, or how much fun we had talking, and smoking cigarettes, and shooting at coffee cans.
Thing is, Milt was my friend, and my Father In Law, but he wasn't my Dad. I don't have a lifetime of lessons from Milt like I do from my parents. If I lost my Dad's stuff, I would be upset, but I am always a part of my Dad and Mom, I can't "lose them". I know it's illogical, since I am married to his daughter, and all of my grandkids are also Milt's great-grandkids , but I still feel like all I have is the memories of the 20 or so years we knew each other, and the stories he could tell me. I will never lose my parents, they are in my DNA, and I know Milt will always be in my heart, and in my daughters and grandkids, yet somehow, if there was a fire and I left that gun behind, I feel like I would be leaving Milt behind, and that, I couldn’t do. It's worthless to most folks, priceless to me. It's a tiny little link to one of the best friends a guy could ever hope for, and a helluva guy.
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