Bring Out the Fine China

When my Grandmother passed away, her children went through her old house to find any heirlooms they wanted. Once they finished, they allowed the Grandchildren to make the rounds. I was a decent distance away, and so was the last one to go through the house. I took some joy that most of the house was picked clean and everyone wanted something to remember her by. One of my cousins had fond memories of these little plastic cups that had a unique feel to them, and they reminded her of the nice summer days she would spend over there. I knew exactly the feeling, and was a little jealous she snatched them.

I grabbed a large Get Well Soon card my siblings and I made for grandma when she was in the hospital over twenty years previous. The fact she kept it warmed my heart. Then my dad said that the China was not grabbed by anyone and asked if I wanted it. We had our own China as a wedding gift, but we decided to keep it as an heirloom. The only other items were a few religious items that Dad found after we left. He asked if we wanted them and I said I would look at them when I got over again, but never did. It still haunts me I didn’t give them a proper home.

This came to mind when reading a viral Twitter thread today regarding a mom who wanted to give her China to her children as an heirloom, and they all refused, causing a ridiculous amount of drama. Putting aside their actions being the most undiplomatic and cruel way of handling one’s parents, what stuck out was the mother hadn’t gotten out the China for literally decades, so there were no good memories to ascribe to them.

I remember my parents getting out the China a couple of times, but most of the traditions were lost to the wind by the time the Boomer generation grew of age. My Grandmother seemed to use the China for special occasions, and it still had that sense of family pride. What is tragic is how people bought the forms of a tradition and heirloom, but neglected to create the memories around the artifacts that were the entire point of their existence. They aren’t supposed to just look nice in a cabinet, but be used in the most intimate parts of a family’s life.

Even in intact families, traditions are melting away to flat and uninspiring forms. The rituals of home and hearth are receding in favor of convenience, and they wonder why they stop recognizing their children when they grow up. All of the sacred actions that were sacred simply because it was your own family doing it, and no one being able to take it away, has morphed into ensuring every kid goes to the right school, takes the rights classes, and has the right checkmark in their college app. Such an idea of the world has no place for such frivolous things as China.

There’s another aspect too, in the loss of dignity in one’s station. My grandparents were farmers, and while they were never wanting for food, they weren’t exactly the elite of society. It didn’t matter, as on Sunday they would put on their best and go to Church. On special occasions they would feast with linens and plates that would be just in place in a millionaire’s house. It was an elevation in the dignity of one’s status, and how one cared for the family no matter their financial situation.

As such traditions fade, so will one’s personal history, one’s sense of place in the world, and soon one’s own genetic line will fade away as the roots that ground your life pass into oblivion. A child watching his mother scramble to prepare everything, making everything aesthetically nice to look at, and preparing the day just as her own mother did gives one a connection to one’s ancestors. It’s the realization your life is bigger than just you, and you are following the same script through the generations, building a holy house and preparing the next generation to do the same.

My wife, God bless her, did everything right this Easter, and only afterwards did I understand what all the fuss was about. Such spectacles are what make a family a family, and every child I have deserves it.