A Boy's Small Gift

Although my mother's father worked in the Cleveland steel mills, there was very little money and as the children got older they got jobs and turned their paychecks over to their parents. Though she never said so, I believe my mom grew up with very few possessions that were her own, everything was hand-me-down. It was not until she married my father and moved away from her family that she came to own things that were hers and no one else's.

I'm not sure how old I was when she bought a pretty ceramic teapot. My parents drank coffee, but I think, for her, this teapot represented something of refinement. It was delicate and finely painted and sitting down to enjoy a cup of tea meant that there was some leisure to life, that it was not all toil from sun up to sun down, there was time for conversation or contemplation.

I do not remember the circumstances but I recollect that it was an accident that sent my mother's delicate teapot to its untimely end, smashed on the floor, so many broken pieces it was beyond any hope of repair. I do not remember her crying about it but I suspect she did. I do remember a prevalent sense of loss. I see now that she, having grown up with so little, may have felt unworthy of fine things.

I do not know if it was that same year or some subsequent year that I came across a teapot that was identical to the beloved one in every way. It was close to Christmas and I bought the teapot and wrapped it and put it under the tree for her on Christmas Eve. The next morning was the usual Christmas morning madness with the rush to open presents. I felt a psychic tug, knowing that her opening that gift would mean something. When she picked it up and began unwrapping it I nearly felt ill. When she saw what it was, I saw the wave of emotion on her face and I knew I had done the right thing. I saw on her face that she knew that someone thought she deserved something nice.

There are very few moments in a boy's life when he has done something he can be truly proud of, my life was full of the ordinary busyness of school and church and chores and just trying to get along. There are not many gifts we can give each other that don't fade, or break, with time. I gave my mother a teapot that Christmas but I think she got something else entirely.

The teapot may be long gone for all I know. What is left is the only gift we really have to offer each other.

Tim Bulone is an ardent observer of life on the swirling blue marble. He works at Davis Group Consulting and creates fine art and canvas prints which he likes to sell from time to time at http://www.MyFamilyArt.com He is an early morning pedestrian in Belmont Shore, where he resides with his wife.