Final Version of the Story-in-a-box

The day my grandfather passed away was one of the most memorable days of my life. It started out as an ordinary Wednesday. My mother had taken me to my grandparents’ house for a visit. I was greeted as a guest of honor by my grandmother with a plate of cookies and a glass of milk. As my mother and grandmother conversed, I had managed to find my way into my grandfather’s study where he was quietly sitting and reading the daily paper. Since I had never been in the study before, my grandfather immediately noticed how intrigued I was at all of the unusual items he kept on a shelf by his desk. He picked up the first object and began his story as I gazed into it with amazement.

The first pieces he showed me were a bark canoe with a bird feather inside, an oddly painted clay plate, and three wild chestnuts. He told me a story of how long ago he had managed to get lost in the woods. He was saved from a wolf by a Native American boy. The boy then lead my grandfather back to the cabin my great grandfather had built. From that day forward the two boys had become great friends and, like all great friends do, they began to share everything. My grandfather traded his pocket knife for the boat and some buttons for the chestnuts. On the last day the two would see one another; the Native American boy gave my grandfather a feather on the painted clay plate and told my grandfather that the boy’s name meant little bird.

Then my grandfather held up a miniature figurine of a Spanish house and a carved, marble name stamp. He said that these two items were given to him by the two loves of his life. He was given the house by a woman who he had met on a trip to Spain. He was walking along the beach when they met. They had spent a week together when it was time for his to return to the United States. On the day he left, she handed him this house and said that one day she would be in a house like this near the beach where they met waiting for him to return.  The second, and more important item, was given to him by the woman who ended up being my grandmother. The two met during my grandfather’s travels of the world. It was a great love story of overcoming cultural differences. Between tackling language barriers and getting around traditional parents, the two managed to love one another and never stop.

The next few items were very mysterious. My grandfather held up a spherical object wrapped in a velvety cloth with a floral print. As he unwrapped the item, he started his tale of how he came to acquire it. My grandfather was on a pearl diving expedition in the Gulf of Mexico. After bringing up a few oysters and finding a few pearls, my grandfather and the local man who invited him on the trip went into the market to trade the pearls. With the money my grandfather made he wanted to get something so that he would never forget this trip. He ended up finding a local carver and commissioned the carver to make a wooden head of the local man who brought my grandfather along on the pearl diving adventure. The carving was completed in a little under an hour and my grandfather found the cloth in the market. From then on the head was wrapped most of the time, only taken out for stories of treasure finding.

The dark wooden African statue and the leather wallet were next. My grandfather was on a hunting trip in Africa and was after the big cat. His guide knew the savanna well and there was no problem finding the herd. This hunt was the greatest adventure of my grandfather’s life. The statue was from the village who he gave the lion meat to, and the wallet was made from the tanned hide. My grandfather spoke as though Africa was the only wild place left in the world. My grandfather was honored by the village because of the lion hunt and will never forget his time there. According to my grandfather, Africa was the one place he could go to again and again without ever getting bored.

When my grandfather was backpacking through Brazil, he came across a small village. He helped them built shelters and with other chores. He spent a total of three weeks in the village. He said his time there was for others than himself and that is what made it so special. Towards the end of his stay in the small village, he was gifted with a figurine of a dancing man playing a drum by the village elder. He was also given a small painted jar from a little boy who had lost both of his parents to malaria that year. My grandfather had built the boy a shelter to live in and looked after the boy while he stayed in the village.

Before I knew it, it had come time for me to leave. Before I left the study, my grandfather looked at his desk and picked up a wooden ruler and handed it to me. He said that no matter what the item is, if it has sentimental value, keep it.  My grandfather passed away that night and it had seemed as though I knew him more than ever. Its amazing how one can fit a lifetime of stories onto a shelf. I’ve kept the ruler in a safety deposit box at the bank. I’ve kept it there because that ruler means more to me than any amount of money ever could.