I was given the collar devices that belonged to my wife's' uncle. Uncle George, as I knew him had served in WW2 as a member of the Army Air Corp. He had a slight disability but still served, as it was wartime. He was never in a combat situation but served in a supporting role on the home front. His service was no less important than anyone else's. I was also given his uniform jacket several years back. So, I have become the keeper of his memories, at least those memories.
I am one that has a bunch of memorabilia around the house. I'm not a hoarder, I will discard something I lose interest in very quickly. I can become detached as readily as I can become attached. Those items generally belonged to someone I am related to, even though many of them passed long before my time. Just little things that have survived time. Many are stored in a large wooden chest in my attic and others are spread around the house, like being in Cracker barrel, when it was still Cracker barrel. No telling what you might see and wonder about; just what is that? Mostly they go unnoticed by myself, you know how that is. And the truth is most go unnoticed by everyone else too. Most visitors to your house don't go around looking at things like they are in a museum. Sometimes I will point them out though, if it comes up in conversation.
But, back to those collar devices. I immediately polished them up and mounted them on a piece of cardstock. I'm thinking about a way to mount them in a more permanent fashion, to display them. The uniform jacket is too large an item and I really have no place to have that hanging so it is in the closet next to my own military uniform, another memory being stored away. Hey, I'm told that my uniform is now vintage! It is complete with all the ribbons, medals and devices. The collar devices are quite small and shouldn't present a big problem. The issue with them is having enough space to provide the explanation of exactly what you are looking at. That is of the greatest importance to me. I want the story preserved. One of the reason I write these blogs of mine in fact. I'm offering an explanation.
It's my thought that if each item is identified, the name of the person that owned it or created it is known, it stands a better chance of survival. It is far easier to discard something that is an unknown than it is great Aunt Harriet's needlework! You don't have to have actually know her but if she is a relative that changes everything. At least for me it does. Call it a superstition if you like, but I feel a little leery of throwing things like that out, the dead might not be real happy about that, know what I mean? I'm not going to be the one that kills them! Each item is a personal item, that's the way I view them. How important was that item to the original owner? In most cases I haven't a clue but they are still here, probably a reason for that.
I have also done a lot of work on the family tree. It is just a matter of curiosity with me. After years and countless hours of researching and searching I have filled in a good number of blocks. I have made discoveries! All my ancestors were people just like me. The really old ones even lived in different countries, spoke a different language and had different customs than myself.
Interesting but that's all it is to me, an amusement. I smile when I see the ads on television urging you to "find out who you are" by subscribing to their service. I smile because my third great grandfather was a German man, lived in Germany, immigrated to America and became a citizen of this country. That's not who I am though, that's who he was. I'm just an American. It is fun and exciting when I can find something about those folks to tie them to an artifact I have that once belonged to them. My second great grandfather once killed a blacksnake! It was recorded in the newspaper. That's amusing. I can search military records and add that information as well, and have done so. Makes those things a bit more personal.
When I was a young child growing up I would go to my great grandfathers house. It's funny, because as a kid I didn't really make the connection that this man was my fathers grandfather. He was just this old guy that my father called Gramp that lived in this big old house filled with all kinds of strange stuff. He lived in the kitchen of that house because he was the sole occupant. The coal stove for cooking and heat was there, the kitchen table and his big old bed over in one corner. That was pretty much it. The rest of the house was sort of mysterious and sometimes I would go exploring. I was warned though, don't touch anything and to leave things alone! Gramp meant it to, he carried a cane and wasn't afraid to use it.
When I got a bit older and he had to leave that home all that stuff needed to go somewhere. I remember him being very concerned with that, very upset and troubled. I didn't understand what the fuss was all about, it was just stuff that had been sitting in those other rooms for years. There were baskets full of old papers and magazines. There were rooms literally full of dusty old things that I had no idea about. Looked like a lot of junk to me. But what I'm come to realize and understand is those were his memories. And his memories had to go, they needed to move. His memories had been living in that house for over sixty years!
Perhaps that is where I acquired this affinity for holding onto those type of things. The things that hold a memory. It doesn't have to be my memory, but it does have to belong to someone I once knew or am related to in some fashion. I do have some objects that just serve as a reminder of the past, not having belonged to anyone I knew but reminds me of them anyway. I wouldn't be upset if those things go to goodwill or the trash pile. I'm only concerned with the things, like my great grandfather was, that hold a memory. The intent being, to share that memory. It's a gift.
The disturbing part is when your gift is rejected. You know how that feels. When you give someone a gift that you spent time thinking about, putting in some effort and thought, expecting them to be excited about it and then met with; thanks. Then the gift is simply set aside. And you say to yourself, it's the thought that counts. That is your only consolation. It is never enough. My objective is to have you remember, to have others share my memories. That's the thought. And yes, ironically it is the thought that counts. I just have to get you to think that.
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