Carolyn
J. Rose
"You Can't Have Everything. Where would you put it?"
Comedian Stephen Wright
When
I was about ten and visiting my grandmother, I fell in love with a tiny metal
grooming implement—a nail file attached to a tweezers. It was small and cute,
and I wanted it. Never mind that, in those days, I used my teeth on my
fingernails and couldn’t understand why anyone would suffer the pain of
plucking their eyebrows. The point was, as I said, that I wanted it.
So
I did what most ten-year-old kids do, I cajoled and pleaded and whined. I
promised to use it and take care of it. I promised not to hurt myself with it.
After what seemed like hours, my grandmother caved and gave it to me.
I
put it in the pocket of my shorts and took off to show it to a friend, my
fingers touching the cool metal now and then while I trotted along the
summer-baked asphalt county road. As I hoped, she had nothing like it. She was
envious. She intended to ask her parents to buy her one just like it.
And
so, mission accomplished, I jogged along a dirt road, climbed across a stone
wall, and cut through a field on the way home for dinner. At the far edge of
the field I slid my hand in my pocket. To my horror, I discovered my treasure
was gone.
I
checked my other pockets. I backtracked along the faint path, hoping to see
sunlight glint off its silvery finish. I stooped low. I cocked my head. I
riffled the grass with my bare feet. I crawled and combed it with my fingers.
Nothing.
I
returned the next day and the next one after that.
Nothing.
I
never told my grandmother I’d lost that little tool. I suppose I knew she
wouldn’t sympathize or offer to replace it. And, when I got older and spotted
similar items in stores, I never purchased a one. They no longer seemed unique
and I never felt the need to experience the thrill of ownership.
In
the past sixty years I’ve lost plenty of other things—money, tickets, papers,
books, and even—now and then—my way. Recently I’ve spent far too much time hunting
for socks gone astray, pens I was sure I put on my desk, and keys I was
positive had to be in the kitchen where I “always” put them. Some lost things
I’ve found and some I haven’t. Some I’ve replaced and some I haven’t. Most
things lost in my youth I have only vague memories of.
But
the memory of that tiny implement hasn’t faded. It flits across my mind when I
see a field of tall grass or file my nails or declare war on the rogue hairs in
my eyebrows. I have no idea why the mental video of my ten-year-old self
searching for it remains so clear and firmly embedded.
The
mind is a strange and wonderful thing.
You can't have everything. Where would you put it?
Steven Wright
Read more at: https://www.brainyquote.com/authors/steven_wright
Read more at: https://www.brainyquote.com/authors/steven_wright
