Many families pass heirlooms from one generation to the next. Perhaps it’s a family Bible, portraits of long-gone ancestors or a silver candlestick someone lugged from the old country.
I carried it carefully to her house and gathered her and her three oldest kids around the kitchen table. I wanted to tell them the story of why the item brings me joy. As soon as my granddaughter saw it, she started laughing. She’s familiar with the item and the story so she knew what was coming. As I told the kiddos, once upon a time I was a mommy and I had a son named Billy. Then I showed them a picture of me with a kid of about 8. They looked at the picture, stared at me and couldn’t figure how their wrinkled old great-grandma could be the cute young gal in the photo. I told them that the little boy grew up to be their mommy’s daddy and their grandpa.
There it sat on the kitchen table, 50 years later, a blue object small enough to fit in the palm of my hand, with “Mom’s ashtray” written on the side in childish script. On the bottom, the boy had placed his initials.
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