Todays Helping of Chicken Soup for the Soul

[Guest guest]

A Tradition in the Waiting

By Lorraine Cheeka

Tucked snugly in Gram's bed, I watched Sunday morning dawn. I loved

the

way the light sidled in around her vinyl shades to dance with the weightless

dust that floated in its path before falling, silently, upon Grandma's

braided

rug. I could smell fried bologna and eggs and knew Gram would soon collect

me

for breakfast.

I crawled out of the bed to explore.

Across the room stood her dresser whose drawers, I knew, were full of

cosmetics and perfumes and a jar of cold cream all mingling into the

fragrant

scent of Gram. But my attention focused on the unassuming jewelry box

perched

on top. Standing on tiptoe, I lifted it to the floor and knelt before it.

As quietly as my clumsy young hands would allow, I slid the top off the

box

and worked my way through all the things I deemed less valuable: bangles and

baubles; costume jewelry; an old photo of a much younger Pop on his Harley.

.. .

.. And then I found it - the small blue box that seemed to call to me on my

Sunday morning visits.

Despite its lackluster plastic facade, it contained the most beautiful

ring

I had ever seen. Reverently, I took the delicate circle from its nest of

blue

velour and slid it on my finger. Turning my hand this way and that, I

admired

its sparkle and pretended I was a bride.

I counted the small, crudely cut diamonds surrounding the large

solitaire.

Eight little ones circled one big one. Nine diamonds that looked just like

a

crystal flower. My young eyes didn't recognize the handcrafted workmanship.

They didn't appreciate the intricate filigree of the band. But I saw it was

worn and very old, and I could almost hear it whisper romantic stories from

the

past.

Gram found me gazing dreamily into her large mirror.

To my surprise, she didn't scold. Instead, she gathered me back to her

bed.

" Sweetheart, " she explained, " your grandfather gave me this ring as an

engagement gift. "

My eyes grew big. I knew it had a story. Listening intently as Gram

continued, I reveled in the rosy glow of yesteryear.

" It was a tradition in his family for generations. A father would pass

this ring to his eldest son when he decided to marry. And he, in turn,

would

pass it to his firstborn son. "

From son to eldest son. Wow. I knew the ring represented the past -

our

family's past. It connected me backward through time to my ancestry and

heritage. It told me something of who I was and who we were.

But Gram wasn't finished.

" . . . However, your uncle seems quite content to remain a bachelor.

So,

I'll make a deal with you. " She leaned closer and whispered, " If he's still

single by the time you get married, the ring is yours. "

Mine!

" Now if you don't mind, " she slipped the ring off my finger and back

into

its soft nest, " the eggs are getting cold. "

Thirteen years passed.

At last, and never having forgotten Gram's promise, I was ready to

announce

my own engagement. Although my uncle remained single, it felt strange to

ask

for the heirloom ring. But Gram saw that I didn't have to.

As she hugged me in congratulation, Gram pressed the well-remembered

box

into my hand and smiled.

" Now you don't have to make believe. "