Don't judge a memory by the layers of old paint

     After many years of "treasure" hunting, one of my most prized finds has to be an item from a local auction that I simply couldn’t resist…an old metal porch glider that immediately caught my attention and warmed my heart.  It was covered in layers of dingy green paint and rusty in a few spots, but that didn’t matter to me.  I just had to bring it home because it reminded me of the glider from my grandmother’s front porch.

     So without a second thought for my skimpy budget, I proceeded to bid tenaciously against a room full of people who also seemed to have had grandmothers…grandmothers who had porch gliders.

     When the tense bidding was finally closed, I was the proud owner of that glider – for quite a bit more than I had planned on spending.  I was excited…and a little queasy.
     I felt better, however, when several auction attendees told me how hard it was to find one of those vintage gliders and how much more expensive they were in antiques shops.  And I only felt a little bit guilty when the lady beside me and fellow bidder mentioned how she had wanted to buy the glider for her husband for his birthday. (His grandmother had one just like it, you see.)
     After my hard fought victory, I still faced one more challenge.  I had to get that thing home.  That meant I had to call my husband and ask for his help – and his truck.
     “You paid how much for that?!” he exclaimed a split second after I pointed out my purchase.
     No matter how many times I stressed what a great deal it was, he couldn’t see beyond the layers of old paint and rust.  So I tried the sentimental approach…
     “My grandmother used to have one just like it,” I said.
     “So?”
     “My cousins and I used to sit together on hot summer days and eat Popsicles,” I added.
     “You hate Popsicles.”
     “You’re missing the point.”
     Finally, I tried the financial approach…
     “You know, in antiques shops these things go for two or three times what I paid,” I said knowingly.
     “Show me one,” he said – ever the skeptic.
     Vindication was mine, however, the moment my two children spied that glider on our front porch.
     “Cool!” said my discerning son, carefully examining the contraption.
     “I love this thing – what is it?!” added my astute daughter, gently pushing back the seat.
     “Can we sit on it?” they asked.
     Maturely controlling the powerful urge to stick out my tongue at my husband, I replied, “Of course…
     “Can I bring you a Popsicle?”

Mary Magoon