Giving up on nostalgia for the future

Every time I walk past it, the waxed shine of the dark stained mahogany begs me not to pass by too quickly. It is a lovely antique highboy cabinet with beautiful lines that once belonged to my mother. It is very special to me because I was with Mother when she first saw it.

She didn’t find it in an antique shop or a furniture store, but instead found it piled in with some other trash on the side of the road. Someone cared nothing about it and just threw it away. Mother rescued it from demise and had it refinished. It has always gleamed with gratitude. Its drawers even house some of Mother’s childhood toys.

Also in my possession are two chairs that once belonged to my grandparents. Almost identical, they were apparently mates from the factory. The only difference is one chair rocked and the other one didn’t. Somewhere packed away, I have sepia-toned images of them in photographs from many years ago when my mother was growing up. They’re not the most comfortable chairs, but I’m willing to sacrifice comfort for the fact my grandparents had loved them enough to sit in them for many decades.

In any given room of our house, you will find things that have been around a lot longer than I have. Each one is unique and has a story to tell. To me, these treasures are irreplaceable and I feel very fortunate to keep them safe to pass onto the next generation. There is only one thing that worries me: Most of the next generation doesn’t want them.

In today’s fast-paced world, technology has captured the attention of our nation. Things change at the speed of light, allowing us to reach an entire world with the push of a button, use streamlined cell phones to take top-quality photos and ride in cars that just about drive themselves. In the process, the younger generation is more interested in the latest gadgets instead of anything that has been around for generations.

I certainly realize that this is just part of our ever-changing world, and I do enjoy many of the things technology has given us. But, at the same time, it makes me sad to think the old things that have wonderful stories will soon end up in the trash pile — like Mother’s cabinet. With the pace of change brought about by technology, there seems to have been a loss of attachment.

This past Christmas, I had a conversation about this with our son Blake. He’s engaged and about to embark on a new and exciting part of his journey through life. His tastes are completely different from ours and probably won’t include chairs from his great grandparents. Everything he and his fiance like is streamlined with chrome, leather and glass.

“What will you do with all of our belongings?” I asked Blake as we walked from room to room.

He didn’t quite know how to answer. “I guess you’ll have one of the biggest yard sales ever,” I said as we stood in front of our Christmas tree.

“No, Pops! There are a few things I would want,” he answered. “Which things?” I asked. He came up with four or five things he said he would never give up. In the back of my mind, I can’t help but feel as though he may have replied just to pacify me.

After he returned home, Debra and I had a big discussion. He may get rid of the “things,” but not before he hears all the stories they have to tell. Just like a docent at a museum, we intend to take him on a lengthy tour of our house and tell him about each and every memory.

Although I realize possessions are not important in themselves, I also know that being in their presence offers reminders of the how, the when and the where of their history. With history comes memories, and memories connect us to the past.

Am I the only one who hates the thought of losing family treasures to a space-aged house filled with technology and devoid of connections to the past? Does that make me superficial or selfish? Does that mean I look to the past too often? I guess I have to once again rely on a memory to answer this question.

Many years ago, my grandmother was asked about where something in her house would end up. She replied, “I’ll be gone. That will be someone else’s problem!”

But until I take my last breath, Mother’s rescued chest will sit exactly where it is — as will the rest of the things that mean something special to me. As Granny said, after that it will be out of my hands.

This story was originally published January 12, 2017 at 3:05 PM with the headline "Giving up on nostalgia for the future."