The Ultimate Regift

At first glance it wasn’t much of a gift. Just a cheap pocket knife, made out flimsy metal and plastic. It probably came from a flea market or an arcade game at a pizza parlor.  Yet of every gift I received at my surprise fortieth birthday party, it was this one that had the most meaning to me. 

Crows are known to give humans “gifts” to show their affection . Sparkly things like a shard of glass, a tab from a soda can, or a bright colored piece of yarn. While these may be of little significance to us, the crow believes it’s something of high value. So it was with this pocket knife.  To the giver of this gift, my then eight year-old son Brad, it was a valuable piece of his life he gave to me on a significant occasion, the celebration of my fortieth trip around the sun.  I loved it, not so much for what it was, but who gave it to me and why. 

I recall the gift giving portion of the party clearly. When his time came, Brad walked forward and gave me a small package wrapped in tissue paper. I opened the box and there it was in all it splendor  - a cheap, made in China pocket knife with a bright red handle. As you might expect, it elicited a collective “Awww” from all the attendees. 

Now, what to do with it?  The answer came to me immediately. Instead of putting it in a dresser drawer to be rummaged through after I die, or leaving it in my car console forever, I carefully slid it in my coat pocket. The next day in my office, I repackaged the knife in a paper envelope, and wrote my future self a note on the outside concerning the contents. Within a few days, it was resting quietly in our safety deposit box. 

Fast forward thirty two years. My eight-year old son turns forty today - grown up with a wife and family of his own. 

And yesterday I went to get his present - it wasn’t at the shopping mall, or a golf store, or even on line. I did my shopping at the bank, where I opened our safety deposit box and fished out an envelope that’s over three decades old. I didn’t need to read the reminder I wrote to myself all those years ago because I never forgot.  

He may get nicer, more expensive gifts than the one I’m going to give him tonight. But I’m sure that my present will be a unique one - it’s priceless to me because of the sentiment behind the original giving. I’ll give this gift to him the same way he gave it to me all those years ago. Just like a crow showing his appreciation. And it’s difficult for me to come to terms with the fact  that more than likely when his oldest daughter turns forty, I won’t be around to see it regifted once again - but I hope with all my heart that it will be. 

Now it’s time to find some tissue paper.  I’ll even use some of it to wrap the knife.