It’s a big, brown, slightly
broken, archaic monstrosity…but it’s mine. The hairdryer I got in the 8th
grade, for Christmas 1986.
Despite its thirty
years, it still works. However, I have apparently tripped over the cord and
bounced it off of the bathroom tile one too many times because occasionally, I
have to squeeze the seam back together while flipping the switch to get it
running. But, with just the right finessing, it pops back into place and purrs
back to life.
My husband has offered,
repeatedly, to get me a new one. Reminding me that it’s perfectly alright to
replace it. But I just can’t.
You see, it was my
Christmas present. The present. The only present…8 months before my family finally
threw in the towel and limped our way kicking and screaming to Iowa after my
dad's company was "acquired."
My 13 year-old self learned
the ugly meanings of lots of words like “acquired,” including
"merger" and "downsize" and "independent contractors"
as she was swept up in the aftermath of what has been called "one of the ugliest takeovers in Wall
Street history."
My brother and I had
paper routes and I babysat like crazy to pay for school clothes, shoes, and all
the other little things that came along the way. I helped out in the school
kitchen for free lunch. My mother watched kids in our home, made cakes to order
and sewed clothes and costumes for neighborhood customers. And my dad took the
extra hauls, whenever they were available.
But by my 8th
grade year, my dad had gone from driving a truck to loading one, for minimum
wage…with a wife and five kids. And I still remember, that tearful moment when
my parents told me, that as the oldest, there wouldn’t be much for me under the
tree. I was okay. I wasn’t worried for me. I wasn’t the one with the tears.
But on Christmas
morning, somehow, there was a box with a bow and a big brown hairdryer. And
then I was the one in tears.
“It’s not that bad,” my brother soothed,
oblivious to the true reason for the tears. And as I looked down, yes it was.
It was huge and horrible and just…well…a hairdryer. But it was MINE.
And it still is.
Because over time, I
have also come to learn the beautiful meaning of the word "gratitude"
for something as ugly as this big brown hairdryer.
follow me on Instagram and twitter @thelaurabecker
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