Photo Challenge Day 25 - Something you made
Something I made? I could show you the stack of dishes in my kitchen sink. I made that mess. Or, I could snap a photo of the pile of laundry in the laundry room. I made that mess as well. I was considering one of those when I remembered a little something that sits on a shelf in the office upstairs.
I made this little bowl with my own two hands. It was my first and only time at a pottery wheel. I glazed it and scratched my name into the bottom before it went into the kiln. I was 10 years old, the summer was 1972, and I was at camp for a six-week term that no doubt my parents were thoroughly enjoying.
I was so proud of this little bowl and I was so excited to give it to my parents. On the last day of camp I packed all my belongings in my foot locker and then folded my sheets and blanket, placed them atop my top bunk, put my pillow on top and then set this bowl on top of that before heading out into the morning activities that the camp and campers arranged for the parents.
That afternoon when my parents and I went to my cabin to retrieve my things, my father reached up to grab my bed linens and pillow. He couldn't see that little bowl that I had made and it came crashing down to the hard tile floor. And broke into many pieces. I looked at him and he at me. He pulled his handkerchief from his pocket and carefully, oh so carefully, he, mom and I picked up each piece. He gathered them in the handkerchief and told me he would glue it back together when we got back home. And he did. And then he placed the little bowl on a shelf of treasures in his office.
So, something I made. And my father repaired.
Something I made? I could show you the stack of dishes in my kitchen sink. I made that mess. Or, I could snap a photo of the pile of laundry in the laundry room. I made that mess as well. I was considering one of those when I remembered a little something that sits on a shelf in the office upstairs.
I made this little bowl with my own two hands. It was my first and only time at a pottery wheel. I glazed it and scratched my name into the bottom before it went into the kiln. I was 10 years old, the summer was 1972, and I was at camp for a six-week term that no doubt my parents were thoroughly enjoying.
I was so proud of this little bowl and I was so excited to give it to my parents. On the last day of camp I packed all my belongings in my foot locker and then folded my sheets and blanket, placed them atop my top bunk, put my pillow on top and then set this bowl on top of that before heading out into the morning activities that the camp and campers arranged for the parents.
That afternoon when my parents and I went to my cabin to retrieve my things, my father reached up to grab my bed linens and pillow. He couldn't see that little bowl that I had made and it came crashing down to the hard tile floor. And broke into many pieces. I looked at him and he at me. He pulled his handkerchief from his pocket and carefully, oh so carefully, he, mom and I picked up each piece. He gathered them in the handkerchief and told me he would glue it back together when we got back home. And he did. And then he placed the little bowl on a shelf of treasures in his office.
So, something I made. And my father repaired.
1 comment:
Oh, Alison, the little bowl is precious, but its the beauty of the story that moves me to tears. What a wonderful keepsake!
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