We started cleaning out our basement the other day, and I quickly realized this wasn’t going to be a Saturday afternoon project. It was more like a long-term archaeological dig, complete with dirt, dust and relics from a long-lost civilization, circa 1987.
Our basement has become the official storage unit for everything we couldn’t part with: toys (old and new), tools (useful and otherwise), gas cans, car parts, Christmas decorations, quilts and boxes labeled “Important Papers,” which were tax returns from the 70s. Apparently the statute of limitations expires before my wife’s filing system does.
Our basement is full of postponed decisions.
As we sorted through decades of accumulated treasures, or junk, depending on who was doing the evaluating, my wife picked up an old leather briefcase.
“What are we going to do with this?” she asked.
It was moldy from years of sitting beside the air-conditioning unit.
“I’ll decide later,” I said.
“You’re not going to clean the mold off and sell it for a huge profit, are you?”
“No,” I admitted. “I just wanted you to stop asking.”
I recognized it immediately. It was the briefcase I carried during my years in sales.
Opening an old briefcase is a lot like opening an old jewelry box. You never really know what’s inside. Most of it may be worthless, but every so often you find something that pulls you back to another place and time.
I popped the latches. Lying in front of me was a small stack of papers that made me smile. They were drawings my granddaughter Rilynne had made when she was 4 – that was 10 years ago.
One particular piece of her art caught my attention. She had drawn it with a light green marker.
I’m sure it was refrigerator-worthy in its day. But now I couldn’t tell what it was: a dog, a dinosaur or perhaps a giraffe.
It had a potato-shaped body with random green splotches, a square ear and what appeared to be a tail.
I turned it over and gasped. There was a note of explanation in my handwriting from 10 years ago. Tears immediately began rolling down my cheeks.
“This is Precious – Rilynne drew this for her grieving granddaddy – April 2017.”
I remembered her giving me that drawing soon after the loss of my beloved bird dog, Precious.
In typical 4-year old fashion, she didn’t know how to take away my pain. She just knew that her Granddaddy was hurting and wanted to do something. And to a 4-year old, that meant a hand-drawn picture.
Once I dried my eyes, I photographed this piece of art and sent a text to my now 14-year-old granddaughter:
“Look close. $10 if you can tell me what this is and why you drew it for me.”
I got a quick response. At that age, they are always close to their phones.
“is that Precious, or
maybe a giraffe?”
“It is indeed Precious. But more information is required.”
“i have no more info
is she getting a ball or
something?”
“You drew this for a grieving Granddaddy after Precious died.”
“aww
i drew one everyday
for you right after she
died”
“Still makes me tear up.”
I wasn’t lying. I could barely text her back.
“i drew them
on sticky notes too i
know.”
Then, in typical teenage fashion said,
“i think i should get
half credit since i
knew what it was.”
“Well, since you reminded me that you drew one for me every day, you win.”
Then I joked, “That was when you loved your Granddaddy.”
At 4 years old, we were inseparable. Then she became a teenager, and I thought those feelings may have vanished. I was wrong. She’s growing up, and they have just changed.
“i still love you.”
“I know.”
It’s the best $10 I’ve spent in a long time. It would’ve been a bargain at 10 times the price.
The irony of it all struck me later that evening. In cleaning out junk, I found a treasure.
This one is going back up on my refrigerator.
Joe Hobby is a barbecue-loving comedian from Alabama who wrote for Jay Leno for many years. Find more of Joe’s stories on his blog at mylifeasahobby.blogspot.com. Follow him on Facebook at www.facebook.com/JoeHobbyComedian.
