The shelves were crammed with glassware, all sorts of knick-knacks, toys, stuffed animals, TVs and one of everything ever made. Saddened empty flower vases had a section of their own, longing for the days when they would be the center of attraction, caressing beautiful fragrant bouquets of happiness. Wire racks of clothing reflected at least five decades of fashion design in all sizes, styles and colors.
As I maneuvered through the maze of secondhand treasures, nostalgia settled in and I wondered what stories they could tell if they could only talk. The seduction of the wooden desk was fading away and like most seductions, it didn’t look as good up close as it did when it caught my eye.
There were picture frames of all shapes. One was pasted with an old photograph of a young woman graduating in her cap and gown. I thought if I looked hard enough, maybe the picture would tell me if her hopes and dreams of the future were realized. I wonder whatever became of her?
Another frame held a half-torn picture of a family Christmas celebration. It looked as if the picture was intentionally torn in half, erasing an experience better off forgotten.
But one picture really made me intensely curious, stirred my emotions and almost brought a tear to my eye. The art deco frame was white plastic, stained with dirt and clutched the photo of a newborn child. How could anyone throw away a print of a beautiful new baby?
I remembered looking through pictures of my children when they were born. They brought memories of happiness, excitement, worry and plans I had for their future – although, like most beginnings, not everything worked out perfectly as planned. Our family managed to shared the bad times and enjoyed the good times. But, in the end, everything seemed to work out for most of us.
The star of the toy section was a beautiful red bicycle with training wheels attached. It was watching me very closely. I stared back and it reminded me of an experience many years ago in 1970.
I brought two of my sons, Mike, Danny and one of their friends, George Hill, to a promotional night at the Reno Aces hockey game. Every team in Reno wants to use the “Aces” logo. Joe conforte was there giving away something; I think it was turkeys. Mike O’Callaghan was campaigning for governor and there were two beautiful red bicycles waiting for the lucky ticket holders with the matching numbers on their ticket stubs.
O’Callaghan went on to win a surprising victory against Lt. Gov. Ed Fike in 1970 and was the most popular governor in state history.
The Republicans can blame O’Callaghan for Sen. Harry Reid’s successful career in the Senate. He was Reid’s history teacher at Basic High in Henderson and encouraged Reid to get involved in politics. Well, we can’t all be perfect.
It was time for the bicycles to be raffled off. The first ticket number was called and one bike found a home with a girl sitting behind the netted goal. My two sons and their friend were really disappointed. With the optimism of 9- and 11-year-olds, they thought they were actually going to win – and, unfortunately, they didn’t.
The next number was called and George Hill had the winning stub, not my sons. What to do? I paid for the tickets and randomly gave each one of them a stub for the drawing. I sent the three of them up to center ice to pick up the bike and told them I would meet them at the car. They were so excited, we never did see the game.
On the way home, the big fight began. George said it was his bike. My sons argued he wouldn’t have won the bike if we didn’t take him to the game and besides, their dad paid for the tickets. Again, what to do!
I couldn’t cut the baby in half or throw it out with the bath water so I used diplomacy. They would each have rotating days to have the bike. The children accepted the decision but George’s father didn’t. The kids grew up to be friends. The father never spoke to me again. He must have been a Republican. So much for memories.
Leaving the store filled with remnants of forgotten memories, I realized there’s a life lesson learned from each discarded treasure: in time, our own treasured gift of life will be forgotten. And as we get old, we, too, could be discarded by family, friends and society.
Glancing back at fading memories in my mind, I understood that the memories I once thought would last forever were just fleeting moments in time. The house of forgotten memories made me realize that forever really isn’t such a long time after all.
Post a Comment