第二章 有一种快乐叫珍惜（20）（2/2）
《世界上最温情的故事》作者：吴文智 2017-04-14 12:57
gainst this antique, listening to one of her stories. The bureau does that for me.
There is a picture on the wall purchased at a garage sale. It is dated 1867. “Now that’s an antique,” I boast. “Over 100 years old.” Of course it is marked and scratched and not in very good condition. “Sometimes age does that,” I tell Jenny. “But the marks are good marks. They show living, being around. That’s something to display with pride. In fact, sometimes, the more an object shows age, the more valuable it can become.” It is important that I believe this for my own self-esteem.
Our tour of antiques continues. There is a vase on the floor. It has been in my house for a long time. I’m not certain where it came from, but I didn’t buy it new. And then there is the four poster bed, sent to me 40 years ago by an uncle who slept in it for fifty years.
One thing about antiques, I explain to Jenny, is that they usually have a story. They’ve been in one home and then another, handed down from one f***ly to another, traveling all over the place. They’ve lasted through years and years.
They could have been tossed away, or ignored, or destroyed, or lost. But instead, they survived.
For a moment Jenny looks thoughtful. “I don’t have any antiques but you.” she says. Then her face brightens.
“Could I take you to school for show and tell?”
“Only if I fit into your backpack.” I answer.
There is a picture on the wall purchased at a garage sale. It is dated 1867. “Now that’s an antique,” I boast. “Over 100 years old.” Of course it is marked and scratched and not in very good condition. “Sometimes age does that,” I tell Jenny. “But the marks are good marks. They show living, being around. That’s something to display with pride. In fact, sometimes, the more an object shows age, the more valuable it can become.” It is important that I believe this for my own self-esteem.
Our tour of antiques continues. There is a vase on the floor. It has been in my house for a long time. I’m not certain where it came from, but I didn’t buy it new. And then there is the four poster bed, sent to me 40 years ago by an uncle who slept in it for fifty years.
One thing about antiques, I explain to Jenny, is that they usually have a story. They’ve been in one home and then another, handed down from one f***ly to another, traveling all over the place. They’ve lasted through years and years.
They could have been tossed away, or ignored, or destroyed, or lost. But instead, they survived.
For a moment Jenny looks thoughtful. “I don’t have any antiques but you.” she says. Then her face brightens.
“Could I take you to school for show and tell?”
“Only if I fit into your backpack.” I answer.