So many things in my Parent’s house are like that each thing has a story of how it was gotten or Dad made it. I am the oldest and am cursed with a very good and very early memory. You might say we grew up together in a small way. For most of my life people said I was born 30 something and later going on 40. They were children of the depression and the War years. They grew up with almost nothing. Dad hit the road when he was 13 because there were too many mouths to feed at home. When the War started things got better and worse, his older brother went away for the duration and Dad worked in a defense plant until he could graduate from high school early and then off to the War himself. My Mom worked for 6 or 7 years during the Post War years to save enough for her first year of College determined but unsure of how she would manage the next years but she did and met Dad there. She had more grit and detremination than almost anyone I have ever known. They built a life and family together. I don’t know how to turn my back on all that. They were so proud of all they accomplished from all but nothing and lots of very very hard work.
There was not much to deal with from Momma’s or Dad’s side of the family and the little farm from Territory days is now at the bottom of Grand Lake of the Cherokees.
they're things meant something to me, still do, even if its just a knife that they used....
but I know the writing on the wall....my kids don't want anything....they don't have the room nor the inclination....