It's really a hippo ...

?This year I’ve done a ton of reading and I couldn’t be happier. In times past, I promised myself I’d read, and I did – just not at this rate. Some nights instead of flipping through the channels, I’ll grab my glasses, pull up a chair, turn on the jazz and flip through a book. Some mornings I wake up early and before I head out to run, I’ll stop and run through a few pages. Yes, I’m reading a lot these days, and I couldn’t be happier.

I’ve often wondered what will happen when the world gets back to normal (whatever normal looks like). I wonder if I’ll continue to read at this pace. I wonder if reading just fills a void once occupied by things, we’ve all been missing. What I’ve come to realize is that reading was part of what I was missing. So, regardless of what the world looks like when we come out of this … reading stays.

For every book I start, I order two more and try to finish the one I started while I wait for the two, I ordered. Each time I open one, I become immersed in the storyline. One day I might be dribbling, passing, and dunking with Michigan’s Fab Five, widely recognized the greatest recruiting class ever. A few days later, I’ll be running through the jungles with Pablo Escobar, the notorious Colombian drug lord. The following week, I’m standing in awe, marveling at the strength of Sethe, the female runaway slave at the center of Toni Morrison’s masterpiece, “Beloved”.

Any book is fair game, and I only have one rule: If I pick it up, I can’t put it down until I’m done. As I glance at a full bookcase, one of the anchors of my home, I can’t help but smile at all the books I’ve picked up … the ones I didn’t put down until the last page was turned. Six levels, deep … wide … full. I love all those books and the stories they tell. But more than anything, I love what sits in front of each. You see, on each level, there’s a family heirloom.

Each one tells a story.

Each one holds a valuable life lesson.

***

I’ve got all the adult accounts as I like to call them. You know the lineup: Savings, checking, 401K, an investment or two. I budget, save, plan, adjust and keep a close eye on all those accounts as they form the foundation of my financial future. But no matter how much I put in or take out, how much this one or that one gains or loses my most precious financial instrument sits on that bookcase. It’s a piggy bank that arrived in my family years before I was born.

It’s green and blue, with a smile that lights up the room. Even on the brightest days, the days when the sun pours in, the smile of that piggy bank shines brighter. One ear is missing, but if you turn it the right way, no one will ever notice. Here’s the best part – it’s not even a pig; it’s a hippopotamus, but we’ve always called it a pig. We still do and whenever I walk into my house, back from wherever the day has called me, my first stop is at that bookcase, to visit that piggy bank.

Pennies, nickels, dimes, quarters, whatever change the day makes gets dropped in. Each time I hear one clanging against the others I think of family. The ones that left and those who are left. I think of friends… friends with different last names, guys, and girls. Friends who when this journey began were hippopotamuses but somewhere along the way, when I’m not sure, I started viewing them as members of my family … I started calling them … pigs.

At night before I go to bed, I check the front and back doors to make sure the house is secure. From there I turn off the lights in the den, the room where the bookcase resides. Even in the darkness, the smile from the hippopotamus … the one we call a pig shines bright. That smile, that wonderful smile reminds me that no matter how much this stock grows, that account falls, or the value a piece of dirt gains … family, the ones I was born into and the ones who’ve grown into me, will always be my most important investment.

***

“Those little jewels are worth a lot, man!” That’s what my father used to say whenever he saw me handling one of my mother’s precious Hummel figurines. It was what I like to call a dual-purpose statement. One, it warned me to be careful not to break them and two, it reminded me who they belonged to. Those little, “jewels” as he liked to call them are now spread between my sisters’ home and mine, with two residing on my bookcase.

This year I lost a father who stayed when most would’ve packed and left … and a brother who showed up on those days my father needed to rest. In the days, the dark days that followed, I got lost and slipped into some broken places. Every time I look at one of those figurines, I’m reminded that I found my way back by remembering who I belonged to.

***

My mother had class. Her clothes, fragrances, hair … her look, everything about her said class including her décor. She knew how to build a home and part of her magic was knowing what to get rid of and what to keep. As my father rose in rank, their station in life improved, lifestyle, and environment did the same. This meant some things that worked before, some things that used to fit no longer had a place. A lot came and went, but one thing always had a place … a plaque that affectionately became known as, The Fulda.

Fulda was a German military base that closed in the mid-90s. While stationed there my parents bought a plaque with the names of all the German military bases along the perimeter and a beautiful picture of Fulda in the center. Over the years no matter where they moved, Germany … Maryland … Oklahoma … Texas … The Fulda moved with them.

When I moved into this house, The Fulda moved with me and it now rests prominently on that bookcase. It’s scratched, chipped, and the paints have faded but I can honestly say, it has never looked more beautiful. It’s more beautiful because when I look at that plaque, I don’t think of barracks, tanks, or a place I’ll never see. I think of family. Fulda was never my home, but it reminds me of home. It reminds me of laughter, love, a mother, a father, a girl, and five boys. Each time I glance at it I can hear my father saying, “never forget where you come from Lynn.”

I haven’t and I won’t.

***

I wasn’t a bad little kid. I was obedient, respectful, and kind … but I was also curious. I was curious about dogs, cats, and ants and all other types of bugs. I wanted to know why my father listened to that funny music, why people liked peanut butter, and how anyone couldn’t crave hot dogs the way I did. I was curious in the truest sense of the term and nothing spiked my curiosity more than walking into our living room.

That room was adorned with all kinds of nice, inviting trinkets. Vases, frames, keepsakes of all shapes, sizes, and colors. It was a place tailor-made for a kid like me. It had all kinds of “fun” stuff … that I had no business touching. My favorite was a small oriental entry way with a tiny hammer and a bell that made a huge sound. Each time I went in that room, I’d gravitate toward that piece, grab that hammer, and hit that bell … “Ding … Ding … Ding” was the sound it would make. Around that third or fourth time, I’d hear my mother’s powerfully soft voice say, “Lllllyyyynnnn”….

That small oriental entry way sits on my bookcase. Every so often, I’ll walk over to it, grab that hammer, and hit that bell … “Ding … Ding … Ding…” Around that third or fourth time I stop. I close my eyes and drift back and for a few moments and I find myself wrapped in the warmth of my mother’s powerfully soft voice as she lovingly says …”Llllllyyyynnnn”….

***

We were inseparable, my mom and I. Everywhere she went chances were you’d find me right there with her. There was no internet back in those days, no online bill pay or shopping from your laptop or desktop. Everything you did, had to be done in person which meant the two of us spent a lot of time “handling business” as my father used to say.

On one of our outings, I pointed to a colorful bouquet of paper flowers. I don’t know what it was about them but something about those flowers spoke to me. I stared and stared and stared some more to the point where she raced in and bought them. For years. those flowers sat in our old house and now, they’re in mine, on that bookcase. Lynn’s Flowers is what my father took to calling them and although the colors have faded, in my hearts eye it’s still the prettiest bouquet I’ve ever laid eyes on.

I placed them up high, just off to the right. That way when I’m eating, reading, or doing anything in that room, they can see me, and I can see them. Some days, I’ll stop and look at my flowers. They give me strength … they keep me going. They’re a constant reminder that the one who bought them may have left, but a part of her will always remain.

***

When you get lost, remember who you belong to, because when you do, you’ll always find your way. No matter where you are, no matter where you’re going, always remember where you come from. Take a moment to ring a bell, you know the one, and allow yourself to be wrapped in the loving voice of a very special someone. As you review your portfolio, make sure you’re investing in the wonderful people life has blessed you to have. Embrace the hippos and watch how they become pigs. And when you’re feeling low, missing that special someone, know a piece of them remains. They’re sitting up high in a place where they can see you and when needed you can see them. And when you look their way your heart will smile because they’ve now become the prettiest bouquet you’ve ever laid eyes on …