FILE PHOTO: group of trophies displayed on a shelf
When I was about ten years old, my dad constructed a shelf in my room: metal gold-colored brackets with a pane of thick glass as a top. It measures about one foot by two feet. Mom asked him to do it so I would have a place to display my trophy from winning the 9-10 year old division of the local Punt, Pass and Kick football competition. Over my teen years, more trophies were added including some from music competitions. Those trophies were boxed up close to 30 years ago and are stored in my basement, where they will stay for now.
Now, I am 61 years old and sleep in the same bedroom where I can look at the glass shelf on the west wall, next to the window. I marvel a bit that the shelf has never been removed over all these years with the repainting or wallpaper projects of which Mom was so fond. When I inherited this home 23 years ago, I began the arduous task of removing what felt like a million square feet of 70’s style wallpaper. As I am overly sentimental, I left a couple small swatches up high under some curtain rods, just so I don’t forget her.
The shelf in my room has been the way for holding me and letting me stay in my memories. It has been the home to many different objects over the years. Sports trophies, picture frames, souvenirs from Japan, etc. Right now, it is a mix of a black and white youthful photo of Dad and one of the two of us sporting Jeff Gordon racing hats. In the middle is an older photo of my two oldest grandsons, “Slow hand” and “Peanut”, cuddled up on my lap. These photos are back-dropped by a folding Japanese fan given to me by someone I no longer remember, in a town I cannot clearly recall. Of prominence, is also a small, lighted artificial tree, bonsai style that also reminds me of my time in Japan. I occasionally click the switch to activate the lights and it casts a calming glow in the darkened room.
The shelf in my room is a key to keeping the door to my past unlocked, just the way I prefer. A closer look at it, as I write these musings, shows what a bad housekeeper I am…time to get the dust rag and polish from under the kitchen sink and polish up not just the glass pane, but the cherished memories it securely holds. The shelf in my room is like emotional furniture in my psyche that I am frequently moving around to suit my moods.
Some nights, I find myself running after those memories and the shelf in my room helps me find them. The shelf in my room makes me happy and allows me to display my happiness as well. It helps the never ending healing of wounds of parents long gone and the passing of a youthful exuberance replaced by a stiff, aching back and an artificial knee. I hope the shelf in my room acts like a sort of two-way mirror: for me to look into and for my parents to look back, knowing I am OK, productive and useful. Anything I put on that shelf, is everything to me.
Thank you for the shelf Dad…thank you for suggesting it Mom…JOB WELL DONE!!