When I was about ten, I possessed a poker chip. I didn't own it; I possessed it. I was the steward of the poker chip.It looked like any other poker chip, but I knew better. I knew it was a royal poker chip. It was called Queen Anne.
On one side of Queen Anne was a jockey atop a racing steed. This was significant. It displayed determination of purpose, something that seemed desirable, if somewhat unobtainable for a twelve-year-old.
I kept my Queen Anne poker chip in a special box. The special purpose of the box was to hold the chip. It did so admirably.
At times, I thought it might be somewhat odd, this thing I had with a poker chip. Would a normal child revere such an object? Would another kid call it Queen Anne? Seemed rather unlikely. But it wasn't like I gave it super powers or anything. I didn't bow down before it. I just gave it reverential respect. I thought it deserved it. Something deserved it. My father didn't deserve it. But that's a different story.
Or is it?
Anyway, I don't know what ever happened to Queen Anne. I guess I was a lousy steward. I outgrew my reverence and she became a simple poker chip again. But by then, she was cut off from her tribe, and a single poker chip is a sad and lonely thing. I imagine her in some landfill, re-arranging her molecules into something resembling nature.
Farewell, Queen Anne. You were special once.
4 comments:
I remember Queen Anne quite vividly; and in this instance, more so than you. You failed to mention a rather significant characteristic of the Queen Anne poker chip. It is one of the most impressive things from mine own childhood, and since I'm six years youngerer than you, the lesson stuck.
You altered the bas-relief side with the rider by removing the whip, scratching it away completely. You said that Queen Anne doen't need to use brute force to make her horse move faster than the rest, the horse does it out of love and respect for her.
Perty deep thinking for a twelve year old. Probably why we're so screwed up today. Let's hear it for screw-ups like us.
Holy crap! I vaguely recall (now) scratching out the whip, but I had no idea I ever revealed my weird obsession to you or anyone else. Thanks, bro, for bringing it all back home. Hope my twistedness didn't rub off more than it obviously did.
This story touched the forgotten child... I think I missed the other 12 stories... will read them... Thanks for the comment you left on my blog, Jay... Hope everything is fine for the both of you...:)
Steph- It was your post that made me want to revive my own True Stories. I think it's important to stay in touch with that kid we were.
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