The Shoebox

My mother handed me a shoebox wrapped in colorful paper. It was my sixth birthday and my parents had invited some neighborhood kids over for a party. As I took the box, one kid remarked, “Is that all?” 
 
To this day, I remember my change of emotion. Should there be more? I wasn’t expecting anything in particular. Were we poor? My folks had just purchased their first house and maybe this was all they could afford. 
 
My happiness turned to doubt or even sadness as I removed the paper and opened the box. The other kids peered in, shrugged and moved on to slices of birthday cake my mother had prepared and set on the kitchen table. After the party concluded and my friends left, I sat on the living room floor and began to unpack the items in the shoebox. While a small container, it was loaded with little goodies. Toy soldiers, a yo-yo, a model car, cap gun, baseball cards, a slinky, comic books, a balsa wood airplane and several candy bars. I remember announcing each one as I removed it from the box, trying hard to show appreciation to my parents.
 
The candy bars were quickly consumed. To this day, however, I recall playing for months with each other gift. The slinky was a huge hit. I was the only child in the neighborhood with one and the other kids would come to my house to watch it descend our front steps or navigate elevated courses built for it to traverse. I learned how to adjust the wings on the airplane to make it turn left or right in flight. I mastered the “around the world” and “rock the baby” maneuvers with the red yo-yo. I don’t recall the players on the baseball cards, long gone, but I’d really like to think one of those would now sell for millions. And each time after playing with these gifts, I always carefully placed them back in the shoebox. They were a complete set, the box and the treasures therein.
 
I was relating this story to my lovely wife, Grace and my Aunt Toogie on the recent occasion of my birthday – one of those “milestone” ones ending in a zero. 
 
We had returned home from a celebratory dinner at one of our favorite restaurants and enjoyed a piece of birthday cake at the kitchen island. Grace had asked me about any particularly memorable birthdays. I related trips with family, golf outings with our boys and dinners with Grace. But I also described the sixth birthday story as a life lesson in finding happiness in every situation.
 
“I didn’t realize you are such a softie,” Toogie teased with a grin.
 
“I think it is a sweet story,” Grace offered, adding, “Good things can come in small packages.” 
 
From there, the conversation migrated back to my current milestone birthday. While she has some years on me, Toogie doesn’t show it and she was off and running with birthday quips she was finding on her phone.
 
“Hey, Dalton,” Toogie barked, “If you were whiskey or scotch, you’d be really valuable.”
 
To Grace she queried, “Did you ever think you’d be sleeping with a guy this old?”
 
“Oh, shush!” Grace replied, with a smile, giggle, and roll of her eyes.
 
That didn’t dissuade Toogie who continued to scroll on her phone. 
 
“Here’s one,” Toogie chuckled, “Don’t let age define you, but the side effects may be hard to ignore!”
 
“Oh, and how about this,” Toogie continued, “I’m not saying you’re old and worn out, but if I were you, I’d make sure I’m nowhere near the curb on trash day.”
 
That prompted Grace to steer the discussion in a new direction. 
 
“What would you say is the perfect age to have a birthday?” Grace mused. This prompted an exchange and a consensus that when young, we want time to pass more quickly; when middle-aged, the passage of time seems to slow; and when getting on in years, we accept
things as they are and look forward to the next birthday. 
 
After a while Grace offered, “I guess the perfect age is the one you are right now.” With that, she and Toogie each gave me a kiss then retired for the night. 
 
I poured a Makers on the rocks, sat, sipped, and pondered the evening and the memories of bygone birthdays. In the quiet, the realization struck me – as cool as the slinky was, the very best gifts over the years have been family, friends and faith. An idea began to percolate.
 
I rose and collected several sheets of paper and a pen. I tore the paper into small strips and started writing. On one I wrote Grace’s name and drew a heart; she is the love of my life. On the next few sheets I wrote the name of each of our children and grandchildren and the date of their birthday, each a day of joy. I included slips for extended family members. For Toogie I added a smiley face for the humor she adds to each day, even if it is often at my expense. On more I wrote the name of friends. It is a real blessing to have so many to know. I listed my church and my Savior. Next came special occasions and memorable travels. Very soon I had over a hundred slips of paper. I then tiptoed, since Grace was now asleep, into the closet and retrieved what I knew was there. An empty shoebox. I put the slips of paper in the box and returned it to the shelf. I will probably add a few more slips of paper, photos, and some other goodies in the coming months and then cover the box with gift wrap. 
 
A year from now, on my next birthday, I’ll pull out the shoebox, open it and savor all the wonderful treasures there. It is going to be the best birthday ever! 
 

Daniel Island Publishing

225 Seven Farms Drive
Unit 108
Daniel Island, SC 29492 

Office Number: 843-856-1999
Fax Number: 843-856-8555

 

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