The Keeper of the Sword
BY JUDITH FRASER, MA, MFT
REPRINTED WITH PERMISSION.
Judith is a licensed family therapist in private practice and specializes in creative, holistic therapy with individuals and couples. You can reach her by e-mail at phrasmus@earthlink.net, or at (323) 656-9800.
A prized memento from a grandfather is given to the author for safe keeping and becomes a strong remembrance of childhood.
"I'm the King of the Castle," boasted my eight year old cousin. "No, I'm the King," I said. I was six years old. "Girls can't be Kings," he protested. "Then, I'll be the Queen," I replied, as we dueled with our Great Grandfather's silver, ceremonial sword and scabbard, careful not to hurt one another.
Aunt Margaret's, fifth floor apartment, was like a Scottish castle. The ancient brick walls, statues of lions guarding the door, and pillars decorating the vast entryway, invited my brothers, cousins and I into a Kingdom of history. A realm where ancestors never died, but lived on through our youthful adventures and Aunt Margaret's stories. "Oh, you take the High Road and I'll take the Low, and I'll be in Scotland afore ye," Aunt Margaret sang as she tossed a coin into the air, then waited for one of us to call out the winning, "heads or tails." When I won, I got to be the honorary holder of the sword for a day.
"Who's going to get the sword when you die, Aunty Margaret," I asked innocently. "Whoever is the best Lad or Lassie," she replied, purposefully adding a playful Scottish brogue to her words. "And whoever learns to do the Scottish dances."
I struggled to stand the tallest, be the most helpful, and have the best manners in the whole family. When Aunt Margaret offered to teach the dances her father had taught her, I was first in line. I lifted my arms high, brought my foot to the exact edge of the opposite leg, and jumped from one side of the sword to the other. Over, and over, and over again.
Ten years ago, at the age of 73, Aunt Margaret passed away. I mourned her loss, but forgot all about the sword. I had already moved across country, raised a family, and blended into the quilt that coversso many diverse heritages.
As I approached my 60th Birthday, I felt a loss of identity. I couldn't see myself as clearly as I wanted to. Sensing this was to be a major passage, I wrote to all my friends and relatives asking for a memory, thought, poem, or picture of something that reminded them of me.
"There's a long, thin box for you by the front door," my husband called out one morning. I carefully cut through the tape. Pulled back the paper. And . . . time traveled. Age 60 to 6, in one second. "Oh. . . oh!" I gasped, fighting for air. Losing my balance, I staggered backward. I leaned against the wall, my eyes riveted on the contents of the box. Cradled inside, amongst crumpled newspaper, was 38 inches of gleaming silver. Slowly, I reached down, unburied the sword, and gently lifted it out of its hiding place. Tears ran down my cheeks as the cold metal bridged my disconnected present to the rich heritage of my ancestors.
The laced handle was much more intricate than I remembered. I wondered how many hands had held it tightly in their grip. The smooth shaft danced with the reflection of the ages as it caught the sunlight from my front window. A myriad of ancient ceremonies flashed before my eyes.
I was questioning who could have sent such a gift when my eye caught a piece of paper still inside the box.
"Cousin Judith,
When Aunt Margaret died, for some reason she gave me our Grandfather's sword. I remember when we used to play with it. She said she'd give it to the first one of us that learned the Highland Fling and the Sword Dance. I am very sure that wasn't me. I still have a problem walking, much less dancing. So, I am finally returning it to its rightful owner. Sorry it took so long. Happy Birthday!
Love Dave.
P.S. Bet you wondered what happened to it."
I lit a candle in the front yard. Unsheathed the Sword. Held ithigh over the smoke drifting into the blue sky. "Thank you Cousin David. Aunt Margaret. Grandfather Millhench. Great Grandfather McFetridge Millhench, and all my relations, for now making me the "Keeper of the Sword."
© Copyright 2002, Judith Fraser, MA, MFT |
