I’ve been cleaning out my office in preparation for “going on leave” (which is a nice way of saying my boss is being compassionate and letting me take all of my sick leave and then my vacation before I officially resign) and stuck in the back of a drawer was this creaky, old calculator. Mid-1970s era solar cell that only functions when directly under a light source, soft plastic buttons that are starting to get rigid with age, kinda funky stains from having spent so much time in the smoky environment at my mother’s house, this calculator is really nothing special. <\/p>\n
Except, it was a gift to me from my father.<\/p>\n
And that really shouldn’t make any difference since my father basically wasn’t interested in me and essentially gave up all real interest in being a parent the one and only time he got too free with his hands and made the mistake of hitting my mother (for all my mother’s faults, he only got that one chance to be grievously wrong).<\/p>\n
So why is it even though I have other calculators that function better, look better, and aren’t as rickety, I look at this one with fondness and keep carting it from job to job to job with me?<\/p>\n
Why do we attach value to certain things and not to others? What is it that makes some object special? Where does “sentiment” really come from? What gives some things and events meaning and leaves others forgotten to history, personal or otherwise?<\/p>\n
It’s not as if this particular object is uniquely functional. Nor is it really a gift that took any thought (what does a 7 year-old need with a solar calculator?), so it’s not like it was particularly tailored to my special interestes or needs. And it’s certainly not because my father was a huge presence in my life and this seemingly ordinary object is imbued with value because a person I loved, a person who mattered to me, gave it to me.<\/p>\n
No conclusions, just thoughts.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"
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