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November
2005
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The ties that bind |
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When unearthing family treasures, beware of nails |
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James
Pankratz
Special to Parenting |
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An attic is a mysterious and compelling place. It draws you in with its unlimited possibilities for discovery.
This was no ordinary attic. This was the attic of the family homestead where three generations of my father’s family had lived since 1915.
After my beloved uncle, the last inhabitant of the Victorian house, died in March, a cousin asked if I would help her clean the attic. Before he died, my uncle gave her a piece of valuable, practical advice: watch out for the nails.
When I arrived at the family home on a warm day in May, the rest of the team, consisting of three cousins and two spouses, were in full swing. My uncle’s daughter and son were overseeing the operation from command central in the heart of the increasingly warm attic. It would be a while before I would actually get a look at the attic — something I had not done since I was a teenager — since I was immediately assigned a spot at the foot of the long, narrow staircase that wound from the second floor to the attic.
I eagerly awaited the first treasure to come down through the relay line. I wondered if we would finally uncover the fabled WWI German helmet, rumored since childhood to be hidden upstairs.
In a minute I was holding ... a couple of bent, white curtain rods. This was followed by old garment bags. Of course, this was only the buildup to the torn, thin mattresses that had been stored for reasons that can no longer be fathomed. A real highlight came next, when I got to toss the mattress over the railing of the second floor porch onto the grass below. When the mattress hit the ground, it raised a cloud of dust that dimmed the sun over a square block for half an hour. To learn more of this phenomenon, please refer to the eruption of Krakatoa.
Bric-a-brac deemed worthy of an estate sale was brought onto the second-floor porch, where another cousin used a vac to remove layers of dust. I noticed large holes in the carpeting that once covered the porch. My mind was instantly flooded with a memory of Sunday afternoon cookouts on that porch, where my parents, aunts, uncles, and cousins enjoyed barbecued chicken, potato salad, and each other’s company.
I couldn’t wait any longer to get up to the attic to see for myself where the treasures were. When I got to the top of the stairs, I saw that the walls and ceiling of the wide, stand-up attic were illuminated by a single high-intensity lamp. My first scan of the attic revealed cardboard boxes, garment bags, and a chest of drawers. Then I saw an intriguing, round metal contraption, that turned out to be an early dishwasher. It was labeled the Sanitary Washing Machine complete with yellowed instructions.
Next there was the ladder that led to the roof, where the family story has it that my aunts and uncles watched Lindbergh fly over. My cousin called my attention to an old trunk. The mailing label and the stickers still attached to the trunk revealed that my father had sent it home while he was a student at Notre Dame in the 1930s.
My reverie was interrupted by the need to move a metal cabinet down the winding stairs. As my cousin’s husband began the descent with the cabinet, I swung around and was suddenly reminded of my uncle’s warning, as I felt several points stabbing my left side. I had backed into the nails coming through the attic roof. I was relieved when a cousin’s husband, a doctor, gave me the all clear. There were no signs of holes in my shirt.
Later that afternoon, as we all sat in the living room looking through old photo albums and laughing about times past, I thought that no major treasures had been unearthed. But I was wrong. They were right in front of me. Our parents had passed down traditions that created shared memories that were binding us together now. A tradition is an activity that a child describes as “do-we-have-to?” but that an adult remembers as “I’m-glad-we-did.”
As long as we “watch out for the nails” of envy, jealousy, greed, and resentment, we can continue to relay those traditions down the line.
(Pankratz is a marriage and family therapist at Catholic Charities Milwaukee regional office.) |
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