"To Be Like a Deer Caught in the Headlights"!

Or maybe, just "barren of brains", as Ben would say. Regardless - I was caught. Off guard. We've all been there, done that. So I don't feel totally alone in that respect.

As we all know, my mom died over thirty years ago. My dad, twelve. When dad passed away, we kids got the honors of cleaning out things. One of the places we had to tackle was the spare bedroom closet. At one point in time we had all used that room. Mom and dad, Donna, Tiger and I, and Bobby. So there was no telling what we would find. But find something I did. I remembered it well. It was a picture, a water color.

Way back in the day, I went to high school with the boy that lived diagonally behind us. We had art and Algebra together. We were competitors in Algebra. Who could get finished their test first and correctly. Who could solve the toughest problems. You see, back then there was no such thing as using a calculator in any kind of math. We generally only had three to five problems a night for homework because you could use one side of your paper for one problem solving them the "old fashioned way". And on top of that, the teacher checked each step we used making sure we didn't "short cut" the problem. Art was a little different. We had our own styles, but still liked the challenge and critiquing of each other's work.

In tenth grade, Jimmy painted the above picture in class. Water color was the assignment. He presented it to my mom when he was done. Mom rolled it up and put a rubber band on it and put it in said closet. There it sat for twenty-nine years until I found it when cleaning, still rolled and banded, just as she left it.

Jimmy had moved back to the neighborhood and was living in his childhood home when dad died. He was around during the "cleaning out" process. One day he came over while we were there and told me about the picture he had given mom. Ah, yes, the water color. I told him I found it and would he like to have it back. "No" says he. "I want you to have it." I felt " like a deer caught in the headlights". Startled, so to speak. And although I was flattered, I didn't particularly want it (at that moment in time). What could I say? I could not insult this long time friend. He had given my mom something of himself. Something he was very proud of. So after what seemed years staring at him, what could I say but yes, I will take it and take good care of it.

I brought my treasure home and propped it in an obscure corner, still bound in its ratty old rubber band. It sat there for a long time, only being moved when I cleaned around it. One day guilt set in, or should I say my mind left my body. I was doing this entrusted gift no justice by dusting around it. Not only that, the paper itself was getting fragile. So I finally, sheepishly asked a professional framer what it would cost to frame my "art". I tried to explain the chain of events, but felt as if he thought I had a bolt or two loose. Thanks Mister! I left the matting and frame style up to him. After all, he was the professional! Ten times a ten spot later I got my treasure back, all framed and ready to be hung. I think in reality I was about to be hung! Over my mantle it would go, where no other such work had dared to tread.

I really had mixed feelings about that whole process, what to do, how to handle it. My mom's gift. My friend's artwork. My obligation. What was my obligation? Was it to honor the thought of the gift, the gift itself, the giver and the recipient, or the whole shooting match? I chose the "whole shooting match". After all, one wouldn't be there without the other.

One fortunate descendant will some day get a little family "heirloom". Like it or not.

And that's all I have to say about that. For now.