At first glance, it wasn’t much of a gift, just a cheap pocket knife made of flimsy metal and plastic. It probably came from a flea market or an arcade game at a pizza parlor. Yet of all the gifts I received at my 40th birthday party many years ago, this one held the most meaning.
In a roundabout way, it reminded me of a crow. Crows are known to give people “gifts” to show their affection, sparkly things like a shard of glass, a soda can tab or a brightly colored piece of yarn. While these may seem insignificant to us, the crow believes it’s offering something of great value. And so it was with this pocket knife. To the giver, my then 8-year-old son Brad, it was a valuable piece of his life that he offered to me on a significant occasion: the celebration of my 40th trip around the sun. I loved it not so much for what it was, but because of who gave it to me, and why.
I recall the gift-giving portion of my party clearly. When his turn came, Brad walked forward and handed me a small package. I opened the box, and wrapped in tissue paper, there it was in all its splendor: a cheap, made-in-China pocket knife with a bright red handle. As you might expect, it elicited a collective sigh from everyone in the room.
What to do with it? I had an answer. Instead of tossing it in a dresser drawer to be discovered after I leave this world, or leaving it in my car console forever, I carefully slid it into my coat pocket. The next day at my office, I repackaged the knife in a paper envelope, sealed it and wrote a note to my future self on the outside. Within a few days, it was resting in our safe-deposit box, waiting for its time to come.
Fast-forward 32 years. My 8-year-old son had just turned 40, now a grown man with a wife and family of his own.
So, when it came time to get his present, I didn’t go to the mall, a golf store or even Amazon. I did my shopping at the bank, where I opened our safe-deposit box and fished out an envelope that had been there for more than three decades. I didn’t need to read the reminder I’d written to myself years ago, because I never forgot.
He certainly received nicer, more expensive gifts than the one I gave him, but I’m sure mine was the most unique. It’s priceless to me because of the sentiment behind the original giving. And I gave this gift to him the same way he gave it to me all those years ago — just like a crow showing his appreciation.
The night of his birthday, his family and friends gathered at a nice restaurant. I waited until the last present had been opened, then handed him a small gift bag.
“Look at the outside of the envelope first,” I said.
Slowly, a smile came over his face as he read my old reminder, opened it and found its contents. I think I saw a few tears as well. Then he held the knife up and explained the gift to everyone at the table, saying, “I remember where I got it. Mama (his great-grandmother) took all of us to a flea market, and I bought it there.”
Fittingly, he used it to cut his birthday cake.
It’s difficult for me to come to terms with the fact that, more than likely, when his oldest daughter turns 40, I won’t be around to see it regifted once again, but I hope with all my heart that it will be. Perhaps I’ve started a tradition that will span generations.
After all the events unfolded, I reached across the table, picked up the decades-old tissue paper and dabbed my eyes.
The old crow had come up with the perfect regift.
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: www.mylifeasahobby.blogspot.com. Follow him on Facebook at Joe Hobby Comedian-Writer.
