A hope chest from Dad brings a bountiful future
At the unsavvy age of 16, I went through a child-hating stage. As my sister nurtured the noble notion of becoming a mother, I decided at all costs to be barren. This would be a shock to my dad, who loved children. Because Dad grew up an only child, he wanted a slew of kids. My parents compromised on five.
As the most rebellious of them all, I was always trying to get Dad’s goat. He more often got mine.
One night my friends and I were feverish to test the limegreen luster of Boone’s Farm Apple Wine. But as usual, Dad was one jump ahead of me. In the spirit of Irish conviviality, he invited my friends into the house so that we could all share alike. Mortified by the thought of imbibing with my father, I gave up the notion all together.
Another night, demanding a later curfew and losing the battle, I unkindly blurted out, “I am going to have kids!” This arrow hit Dad more soundly than my drinking aspirations had.
I thought. But on my 17th birthday, I discovered an 1880s camelback, dome-top steamer trunk sitting in the center of our front room. Dad wished me happy birthday. “What is it?” I mused. Without hesitation, he said, “A hope chest.”
Unabashed, and with the lofty language of a curator unveiling the rare gem of the Victorian Age, he asserted that this 19th-century traveler’s trunk was part of the dowry for my wedding day. He pointed out the rare cherry wood around the straps — not the usual pine. I nodded in perplexed appreciation, convinced that he had seen too many reruns of “The Quiet Man” and had me confused with Maureen O’Hara.
In my awkward attempt to civilize its look, I chipped away at the rusty metal slats of that humpback monstrosity, while pondering the stark, selfimposed forecast for my life.
However, this early train luggage turned into a treasured trousseau. My grandmother contributed her China cloisonné candy dish — one that would dazzle future children. Embroidered doilies, tea towels and great-grandma’s sterling silverware found their way into the trove.
One decade later offered clarity to my vow of childlessness — giving me pause to marvel at Dad’s wisdom.
Our three children gave their mom and dad seven precious grandchildren. Not unlike my dad, I would experience the bounty of being a parent — and even furthering the tradition of passing down this same hope chest to my daughter Patria when she was 17.
Again, I marveled at Dad’s loving foresight.