On heirlooms

How does a heirloom come to be? Can it be manufactured or does it become by a string of historical chances? I wouldn’t know. No heirloom has come to be in my posession. I’ve always been jealous of others’ heirlooms. Even though they are often made out of it, heirlooms are felt to be worth more than their weight in gold. I did get a gold coin from my grandmother, but that doesn’t count as a heirloom because a) she’s still alive God bless her, and b) I can’t really do much with the gold coin other than stash it somewhere safe and hope that I’ll never have to sell it. An heirloom, I would argue, must be an object that can be used, worn, or at least kept on one’s person. It is a pocketable portal to a family history. It is an anchor for stories. Lacking an heirloom, I’ve never felt connected to my family’s history. The only thing I think of when I think of it is its fragmented and shattered state. But this is no woe is me story; for as much as I’m prone to bask in my misery I do have my shining moments of positive agency. And so one day, more specifically sometime around my thirtieth birthday, I decided to summon an heirloom of my own into existence. I couldn’t just go out and shop for it, though. The heir does not get to loom unless it contains a story of at least two generations of familal connection. The good part about being a part of a small family is that you don’t have to fret too much about it being obvious who your favorite is. Now, this person being my mother, and me being her only son meant that appropriating anything of hers was out of the question. The only thing I could do with heir jewelry is stash it somewhere safe or have it smelted, which as I’ve already pointed out is very much missing the point. So I devised a perfect idea: I would have her buy me something that I would then keep and will into being an heirloom. Me being the prototypical basic male specimen meant that the object could only be a watch. Mind you, there is a rather high possiblity of this whole charade being a ploy on my side to get said watch for my birthday, but let’s stick to the story. The watch had to have a story, and I had the perfect one in mind. A little while ago, there was this little film called Interstellar. It is mainly about men in space, but it is very much also about one man trying to prove that love is the fourth dimension and that feelings can transport beings through time and space. It’s a neat film and I’m quite fond of it. My mother, she adores it. I can imagine watching it takes her back to some long forgotten place of carelessness and joy. Even when we’re separated by a thousand kilometers of European soil, there are times I’m able to hear her gasping audibly at that one scene. It is the scene where, as he’s about to leave (probably forever, either to die or save the world or most likely both), the father character gifts his daughter character a watch to remember him by. It’s a strong scene, probably the one upon which the whole premise of the film rests. It’s also one of the finest examples of product placement in film history, for that exact same fictional watch is available for purchase by real money in the real world. And so I thought it an apt heirloom. Not only does it come with a pre-packaged story, but it points to a family history. Ingenious. It is my favorite object. Sometimes I even wear it, but mostly I keep it preciously stashed away in a safe place.