Saadia

How was I even supposed to know it was special? Or important? Or even had a point? It was a hunk of wood. Not even wood that anyone could use for anything because it was too banged up and was poor quality anyways. The two screws that were drilled into it in seemingly random locations were rough and rusted. It was strangely rounded to create an oval shape that made it hard to store and moreover added to the point that whoever created it was crazy because who would want to sweat over a wood file for five hours to achieve a shape that really didn’t improve the object? When I saw it I did notice a diagonal gash in the front (or what I assumed to be the front because what I assumed to be the back had nothing on it) which you later told me was a cut in the wood that made it possible for two parts of the wood that were screwed into the body to swing around, but again, I didn’t see the point of them being able to do that. And somebody scribbled some senseless numbers and letters into the side, “Rs 5/”? It wasn’t even carved in, just jotted down carelessly in pencil. Honestly, when I first saw it I thought you had tried to teach our grandson woodworking, and he tried to start a project of his own. Yeah, yeah, he’s eight but I know you have the same passion for woodworking that you inherited from your father and he inherited from his (and so on and so forth), so it’s not all that farfetched.###How was I supposed to know you would go into our room and shut the door when you found out that I donated it to some thrift store and he would never see it again? How was I supposed to know it would break your heart so badly to find out it was gone forever? How was I supposed to know an object that was so worthless looking was actually anything but? I’ll reiterate what you told me. This object had history in your side of the family. Your great-great-great-great-grandfather grew up very, very poor. He got by with the absolute minimum, but he worked hard in school and got a scholarship, blah, blah, blah, we’ve all heard this story. But, anyways, by the time he was done with college he had a respectable occupation (the exact job I can’t recall) and was doing perfectly well financially. On the day he died, he dedicated almost all his things to charities. Of the few things he gave to close friends and family members, he gave to his son, one of the people closest to him, just a solid rectangular block of wood. To some, the point of it would be, well, missing. But your great-great-great-grandfather always speculated that by doing that his dad was reflecting on his childhood, he wasn’t given anything special but he turned it into something he loved. That was the message, he thought. (Or maybe he was just totally senile and thought it was a block of gold or something, that’s how your slightly less thoughtful great-great-great-grandmother put it.) Over the years, your great-great-great-grandfather added something to it, rounded edges. Then your great-great-grandfather, nails. Then your great-grandfather, cuts that allowed it to swing open. Then your grandfather, some writing. Your dad added scratches.###How was I supposed to understand what these things meant? How was anyone? How was someone supposed to trace the meaning through their trains of thought at that moment? I guess, well really this is what you told me you guessed, but I agree, all these details mean something. The same way your great-great-great-grandfather thought your great-great-great-great-grandfather had some deep meaning by giving him that block of wood, I’m so sure your great-great-great-grandfather had a deep meaning in mind when he softened the edges of that block. It made sense to him. But I guess anyone who didn’t know the whole back-story would be very confused as to what it was about.