JM Barrie, the author of Peter Pan, also wrote the script for a play, and later a movie, he called The Old Lady Shows her Medals. It is set right after World War One in London. The plot is disarmingly simple: an older woman invites a young soldier home on leave to come to her house for a home cooked meal. Now, stop right there and don’t get any ideas that involve either hanky or panky. This was straight up an act of kindness.
He accepts, and over the course of the meal their conversation becomes more open. He tells her with quiet pride how he won each of the medals and service ribbons, in turn, she asks if she can show the man her medals and he is intrigued. How did a middle-aged woman living in London earn military medals in the war? Her first stop was to wind up her Victrola and play Roses of Picardy, to set the mood, and then she walked to the sideboard, where she opened a drawer, and pulled out a small box. Inside were three wine corks. She quietly and tearfully explains that they are the only mementoes she had from a long weekend with her man before he returned to the trenches somewhere in France and was killed. After that, the stage lights are turned down and when the song ends, the performance is over.
Three corks were her symbols of devotion and a love story cut short by war.
I think we all have our own medals or souvenirs and even if we don’t talk to others about them in those terms or put them on display, they are important to us. In fact, that’s the usual way it works: It isn’t the grand candelabra we bought on the vacation of a lifetime; and waited patiently for its arrival back home. More likely it is the beer mug that mysteriously walked out the door of a restaurant with us. Now, one look at it, and we remember everything about the evening – the ambience, food, drink, conversation, and all the rest.
I have my own. One is a long sleeve, heavy, button down, pocketed sweater than looks like it came straight out of the we’re-still-rationing era in England of the 1950s. It has a few moth holes in it, and it’s ugly as anything. I can put it on and still remember the day I bought it at a Hudson Bay Store in Edmonton, Alberta. Or, the cheap ceramic coffee mug the college alumni association gave our graduating class. I have no real fondness it, but it has been around for 50 years, so there is something wrong about tossing it in the circular floor file.
Books are a special challenge. Many of us great up in a home were having a library, even if it meant the World Book Encyclopedia and a few other volumes was a clear and tangible sign that our family put a priority on education and that intelligence was a good thing. Today, almost everything is on the internet, and shelves of books simply seem to take up space. Yet, we hold on to them because they have meaning to us and bring back pleasant memories.
Like the old girl in the play, we all have our own medals, and they are important to us. They represent the bits and piece of our past that have made us into who we are today. Perhaps we are afraid (and rightfully so) that if our medals disappear, part of us will disappear forever.
At the same time, we know we should probably get rid of at least some of it. One of these days someone will find us in the grit on the bottom of the cage, having fallen off our perch for the last time. They’ll take one look at our apartment or home a mutter under their breath a string of words not fit for a family newspaper, as they start going through our inventory. They will sort – keep, toss, donate. We should probably do it now as an act of kindness, but we’ll ease into the task – slowly. Very slowly
Pat suggested we get on with it so it wouldn’t all be left to her sons and their families. I fobbed her off, telling her that cleaning out the house is the penance they must pay for being teenagers. So far, it has bought a little time.
Ideally, the next generation would want and treasure our inventory, as in, “Gosh, thanks dad, for letting me have your collection of Maltese Falcon statues; Wow, Mom! Your collection of commemorative tea towels? Are you sure you want ME to have them?”
That will happen only when your mind is double-parked in a parallel universe. The next generations do not want our stuff. To them it is just play ‘old stuff’ and not our medals and trophies. Give them the sterling silver platters, tea and coffee services, and flatware, and it will end up being sold for the value on the silver. Your fine China and crystal – the very pieces they ate from every Thanksgiving, Christmas and Easter, the ones that Aunt Bertha always dried because no one could do it as thoroughly as her – will end up at an antiques mall, and will find a new home where they are going to be appreciated once again.
It’s rather sad, isn’t it? Something that has been in the family for several generations becomes about as welcome as a skunk at a church picnic. There is no point in moaning about it because we are not going to change the next generations coming up behind us. So, make the best of it. Get out the good stuff, put it on the table, and enjoy it.
Mess with the next generation’s minds a little.
Confuse the young upstarts by dressing for dinner, putting on the Perry Como on Frank Sinatra tunes, candles, and the good stuff on the table. Have a bit of fun knowing that they are probably whispering to their friends how The Olds are definitely getting weird. Face it, it’s better to be remembered for ‘going retro; than for your ability to break wind at the most inopportune times.
Next, go down to the bank and get a couple of rolls of half dollar and silver dollar coins, and then start hiding them around your house. The stranger the place, the better. Don’t make it too easy for them. Do it like you used to hide their chocolate Easter eggs. Then, between now and the time that you either fall of your perch or your mind is away with the fairies, think of the fun they’ll searching for them, never quite knowing if they got every coin. They will remember you for it, and you will create some great memories for them.
As I tell people on their birthday – go forth and create happy memories for the future. You don’t have to wait for your birthday to get started, you know. Today is a good day for a bit of creative anarchy.