Henry Rifle Forums

I didn't want to Hijack another member's post about getting rid of things he no longer used, but I wanted to put this out there.

The collections of stuff that we hold onto may not have great dollar value, but it has value to US. Some folks may not understand this, especially those who have not been "out there and seen the elephant." I have two examples I'll share.

My Father was in the Navy and a member of the Blue Angels. Then 32 years in Civil Service across the hanger from the Blues. Immediately went to work a couple days later at his favorite Golf Course a few miles from the base when he retired the second time after civil service. He worked until a brain tumor put a stop to that work. He beat the tumor twice... but was basically confined to his recliner for the next decade.

He was an Amazing Amateur Golfer, and had a huge collection of Golf Clubs, Custom Bags, shoes, hats, and branded Towels from the various courses he had played around the world. Golf had played a huge part of his life from his time as a Junior enlisted member of the Navy, throughout his Navy Career, and continued into his civilian life. It opened doors.

He and the CO of the Blue Angels would play whenever and wherever they could get in a round as they flew around the world with the squadron between airshows, and as a civil service employee he played with EVERYONE on the base and in the PRO-AM tournaments all over the state and beyond. Well known players wanted to have HIM as their amateur on this pro-am squad.

When he could no longer play due to the disability, my stepmother pushed him to "Get Rid of that Clutter." He had eight or ten complete sets of golf clubs lined up along the walls of the den, like Marines ready to do battle, waiting for action. In a corner were boxes of brand new golf shoes given to him as promotions or prizes in tournaments and drawings, that he had never worn. He had boxes of brand new golf towels from the various courses as souvenirs, received in the SWAG bags when you sign up, never used. A hat tree filled with hats, gifted when he played tournaments or served as Marshall for the various tournaments around Florida. She wanted it all gone. "Talk to your Father, tell him to get rid of this junk, he'll never use it."

Later that evening, I sat down and asked him about it. He was entering into early dementia, and he knew it. We talked about his fears of the memory loss and what he had already lost.

"Take the towels with you when you leave, take the hats. Makes some calls to the schools and find one with a Golf program. Give them that pile of new shoes. I'm keeping the clubs. All of them. Bring me that bag," he said pointing. He pulled a driver from the bag and held it in his hands. He stroked the head of the driver and closed his eyes. "With this driver, I went straight off the tee on number 7 in Georgia on this little backwoods course that was so pretty, and landed just off the green." He handed me the driver and pointed to another club. "I used this one to chip right into the cup and went one under."

He waived his hand across the row of bags. "This are no longer my golf clubs son. These are my touchstones, my memories. I can pull every one of these clubs out of the bag and remember courses, holes, and shots along the courses that I had forgotten. I can bring back the day, the weather, and the smell of the course. I am becoming slowly lost and it scares me. I can't let them go, not now."

My stepmother had also told him to give ME his watch collection. He never left the house alone, and didn't need them. He said the same thing. Most of them didn't work anymore and they weren't valuable except a couple he wore while flying. "But they hold my memories. I know what I was doing and where I was when I hold them."

I told my stepmother to let him keep the clubs and the watches as long as he wanted, they weren't hurting anyone. He would donate them when he was ready.

My patches from the military and Law Enforcement, as well as the hats and coffee cups represent the same. Touchstones to my past. Instructor Schools, Squadrons, Units, Units I worked WITH. Places I've been. I have some displayed in the home office, most are packed away.

Memories fade, touchstones bring the colors back.

In case anyone wonders, I could drive the ball okay, but never had his flair for the rest of the game, so I never picked it up. I'd play in squadron sponsored foursome events in my younger days... But never got hooked.

The old towels? I used for shop towels or fishing. New towels? The really nice hats? I spent the next couple years passing them to golfers I met that appreciated them. There were some really nice ones. All those new shoes did end up with a few local schools in Pensacola. I called a pro shop, asked them, they pointed me in the right direction. (Being from Virginia at the time, I had no clue... )

That was a nice story Marine. It's nice how he remembered things specific to each club.

Thank you sir for bringing a tear to my eye and a lump to my throat.
I have so very few treasures from my Dad. A small pen knife with one broken blade, a few very worn out hand tools, and a couple boxes of slides that he took while onboard the USS Newport News on a Med cruise. I was with him when he broke the knife blade using it as a mini pry bar. One of the few times I heard him cuss like a sailor.
Practically everything else that was his was lost in a fire a few years after he passed. Those few things are my most valued items. They bring him back to me when I need him.

Great story about your dad.

Great stories BOM. I can really appreciate your dad and how special those memories must have been to him. A nice connection to life before the dementia set in. Good for him to have that connection.

Great story BM! My Dad really loved working in his wood shop and I have lot of his tools like his old radial saw and other things. He also loved to play his mandolins and I have 2 of them hanging in my room. Most important I got his work ethic also as my family tells me. Still young at 70 and not ready to get rid of any of my stash yet but things can suddenly change in life. Looking at pictures of my life thru the years and listening to music of that time is great medicine for mind and body!

It's surprising what can refresh a memory. A sight, a sound, or sometimes all it takes is a smell. My grandmother wore a light lilac perfume, which I've long forgotten the name of. I'd spend a couple weeks every summer with her and my grandfather when I was a pre-teen. I always got up early each morning to sit in her kitchen half awake while she made breakfast. It was "our time." She'd come up behind me, lean over my head and place a mug of fresh coffee in front of me. (The coffee was heavily sugared and creamed, but still, it WAS coffee, not milk or hot chocolate.) Then she'd give me a hug, and tell me good morning. The smell of the coffee and her lilac perfume filled my head.

She made me feel grown up and special. The smell of fresh coffee and lilacs will take me right back to her kitchen in the 60s. I found that out when Miss Tina put a lilac candle in our kitchen.

BrokenolMarine wrote: ↑

Wed Jul 24, 2024 11:54 pm

It's surprising what can refresh a memory. A sight, a sound, or sometimes all it takes is a smell. My grandmother wore a light lilac perfume, which I've long forgotten the name of. I'd spend a couple weeks every summer with her and my grandfather when I was a pre-teen. I always got up early each morning to sit in her kitchen half awake while she made breakfast. It was "our time." She'd come up behind me, lean over my head and place a mug of fresh coffee in front of me. (The coffee was heavily sugared and creamed, but still, it WAS coffee, not milk or hot chocolate.) Then she'd give me a hug, and tell me good morning. The smell of the coffee and her lilac perfume filled my head.

She made me feel grown up and special. The smell of fresh coffee and lilacs will take me right back to her kitchen in the 60s. I found that out when Miss Tina put a lilac candle in our kitchen.

Scent has some kind of direct path to places in our brain that trigger memories unlike anything else. Its something we have all experienced. I bought a pickup once that the previous owner had loaded with vanilla air fresheners. I just went with that and would add one from time to time. My kids sometimes tell me that something smells like my old white truck.
And how many times have you been in a supermarket or department store when you suddenly catch a whiff of perfume/cologne that an old girlfriend wore? I once walked and looked down each isle to see if she was there, it was that distinct.

My grandparents were all gone before I was close to 10, and three of the four were gone before I was three, so good for you that you have those memories.

And great post about your dad. He sounds like a guy I'd love to hang with and just listen to him talk about things he has seen and done.

I never got to spend much time with my dad... My folks divorced when I was young, then he was always gone, flying, deployed...

Then I joined the Corps, and I was the one transferring around and deployed. After the Corps, my second career made time off difficult, and trips from VA to FL required ten days for us to drive down, visit, drive back. We visited when we could, and he DID have some great stories! Many I couldn't share here.

I miss him.

My dad passed when I was in 7th grade so only have younger age memories of him. My mom was the youngest of a large farm family and didn't have me until she was 40 so I only had one living grandparent when I was born and he was already in his 80's. My only memories of him was watching him sitting in his chair smoking his pipe or a cigar. I had many uncles and aunts so have lots of cousins but they were mostly quite a bit younger or older than me so not that close with them. My brother was 13 when I was born so by the time I was 5 or so he was off to college, we still talk occasionally but he recently moved to Texas and since I don't fly not likely to see him again. Still have a yearly reunion of my Dad's side but attendance at it is going way down. I think I mentioned earlier that when I was growing up almost every Sunday dinner was at one of my uncles or aunts place and probably all got together for at least several birthday parties every month. I think that's pretty much a thing of the past with today's smaller families.

I have some faint memories, fond ones, of large family reunions every year when I was a littl'un and my mom still lived in Florida. It took place at the Stephen Foster Memorial Park, and lasted a week in the summer. Camping, swimming, cookouts, biking the trails, and we littl'uns were supervised by the tweens. The entire family got reunion t'shirts every year in bright colors with some sort of (Smart a$$) logo I was always too young to understand but an older graphic design (Not a term back then) cousin got props for every year.

The highlight for ME every year was the tour of the museum, and the highlight of the tour were the dioramas. Foster wrote a bunch of famous (Racist?) Songs about life in the old south, and each diorama brought a song to life. They were very realistic, and many had buttons to push and "things" happened. At each, for the very least, his songs played.

"Camptown Races" - Push the button... The crowd roared and the horses ran past on the racetrack.

"Swanee River" - Push the button... The old man down on the Riverbank in the straw hat and overalls raises his canepole to reveal a sunfish and the paddlewheel on the steamboat churns to push it upriver.

Each song had a diorama, each had details to seek out.

When we stopped going, I missed the cousins, the watermelon seed fights, the icecream, the... Family.

We had my mother's parents for dinner every Sunday while both were alive. They had three daughters and went to each one's on the weekends, the oldest daughters on Fridays, the youngest on Saturdays and our house on Sunday.
We saw my father's parents sporadically through the year until they sold their farm. They moved in with my aunt and uncle and dad's father died of a heart attack within six months of moving. My grandmother lived another 20 years or so and I still make her Christmas cookies that I so loved as a youth. I saved many of her recipes, only to have them go missing in a move. I've found most again on the internet, or something close enough.
I can things like my mother did and make a garden like dad did, only much smaller.
I visited my parents almost every week when possible. My father taught me about tractors and farming when he could. We collected tractors and garden tractors together for a few years. I ran all the equipment when he couldn't anymore. He always planted several acres of garden, tending it in retirement until he couldn't. I guess that's where I picked it up. When both had passed, I sold the farm and equipment as I lived in suburbia. I did it all by word of mouth. All but one fellow was of the type I respected and knew when I grew up. I only kept a fraction of what dad had, making a deal with the folks who bought the place to store the small bit of stuff. I treated them very fairly as they were nice folks. I let them keep anything they wanted after all was said and done and only charged them for the tractor they wanted. I kept one of dad's tractors as no one wanted it because it had no loader.
I recently saw one of dad's vintage tractors for sale on Craigslist posted by the man I know bought much of our stuff. I've wrestled with whether I should but it back or not, but have no use for it. I don't have room to store it inside like it should be and have decided to not look into it.
I don't have items that stimulate memories. I'm fortunate enough to remember both parents fondly without stimulus. I have a cabinet full of items that remind me of them, but instead, fill my home with the things Mary and I like.

I have very few things from my stepfather, who taught me carpentry. He passed while I was on active duty and deployed a lot. He left me his shop filled with tools, but they somehow disappeared before I could move them. I had taken his personal tool box with me after the funeral however. Smart move. It was a box he custom built, and contained his hammer, square, hand plane, chalk line, and a few other tools he used every day. I still use them and that small craftsman plane is a favorite. None of those tools are really valuable, but they are priceless.