This Old Box(Herm Sherwood-Sitts) Dearest Alysha, Sixteenth Birthday

This Old Box
By Herm Sherwood-Sitts


About a month ago, your step mom asked if I would take this old box and spruce it up a bit, so you could have it for a Hope Chest. Being the kind of dad that can't say no, I went and got the box.

About twenty-five years ago, I had built this old box. Mind you, I wasn't a carpenter at that time in my life (I was a lineman and I traveled all over to do my job.). I built this box and two others out of necessity. I had a plan to take your stepmom (my daughter Kim), and her mom, traveling with me. It was hard to work away from home and I missed my family. The three boxes held the things that we needed the most, clothes, documents and a few keepsakes. The three boxes fit in the back of our pickup truck perfectly under the tanto cover.

When I got this old box back from your dad and step mom's, I looked at it scratching my head. There was nothing square. The thing was chipped up, scratched up and beat up. It was made out of rough plywood and the craftsmanship was crude to say the least. I thought seriously about just going and getting more material and building something better. However, money was a little tight at the time, so I decided to give this old box a chance.

I was sanding, trimming and trying to get the old box somewhat useable, when it started to make sense to me.

I was thinking, why after twenty-five years, was the old box and I reunited? This old box became Kim's toy box and later, she herself, used it for a Hope Chest. In her first apartment she used it as a makeshift coffee table. Maybe to her it wasn't just an old box! It was something that she had all of her life. It started out with her on her first journey as an infant and stayed with her until she married your dad.

The old box kind of resembles life. I myself, started out a farmhand, a warehouseman, a lineman, a factory worker, a concrete worker, a print shop worker, a steel worker and now a carpenter. I too, am scraped up, scarred, worn and my hinges don't work so well either. Like the old box, to some I'm just an 'old man', but to a few I'm special!

So we'll give the old box some new paint, a little trim and a touch of love. We won't erase all of its scars, because that's what helps define its life. We'll give it back its title as Hope Chest. Who knows, maybe someday it will become a makeshift coffee table or a toy box again. It's now up to you to decide if it's just an old box.


Love Grandpa Jake

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