Don't Get Too Attached

Don’t Get Too Attached

"Romance is divine, Yeah, but where can you hock it? When the flame is gone, You just try and pawn a tired Don Juan!" -Diamonds Are a Girl's Best Friend  

I don’t watch television. This is mostly due to the fact that I am entirely too busy to sit down and watch a show. When I have attempted, I find myself bored by the programming or constantly interrupted by children’s needs. On a recent vacation I was exercising at the resort’s gym and I found myself in front of a TV screen. I am usually returning e-mails or reading when I am at my gym at home, so I am able to tune out the visual noise that appears across the wall. This was not the case during my holiday workout. I was able to give all my attention to the History Channel show named, “Pawn Stars.” A lot of items were either pawned or sold and many people’s pathetic stories were told during this particular episode (which I am sure is always the case). One young man selling his Grandfather’s World War II Octant (an aviation navigation device) especially struck me. It was relatively rare and in good shape. It ended up selling for $250. The man was pleased to, “…have extra money in Vegas.” I felt sick, and then I realized that a lot of my childhood was spent in pawnshops.

My first memory of a hockshop was when I was about 4 years old. My father and I would make a weekly trek to Las Vegas from our desert hometown of Searchlight. The purpose was usually to make a bank deposit and conduct other business. During one of our ventures we stopped at a pawnshop to see what they had and according to my father, “Find what some poor S.O.B left behind.” We parked the Olds on the street and I got to feed the meter. It was bright and sunny and hot. I caught my father’s hand and we entered the single, glass, swinging door. The smell was of cigarettes, sweat and loss. I went quickly to the glass display case and pressed my mouth, nose and fingers against it to get a better look at the jewelry and guns. My father’s question was always the same, “I’m looking for musical instruments. Do you have any?” On this particular occasion the man behind the counter attempted to engage me in conversation and then offered me a lollipop. I recoiled and found a place behind my father’s leg.  “Now Dani! Don’t be shy! Say ‘hello’ and be gracious!” I knew that I would be carried to the car if I did not obey so I crept ever so slowly out and accepted the candy with a fearful smile. I did not eat it.

By the time we lived in Phoenix I was well versed in all things Pawnshop. I knew you could buy things for cheap because, “Some poor S.O.B. couldn’t get it our of hock.” I also knew that you could sell things there in case you needed some money between gigs. I also knew the locations of the, “good” shops. The ones that wouldn’t “screw you.” I also was aware that nothing was above pawning.

My mother always wore a simple white gold wedding band. On numerous occasions I would ask her where her diamond was. Her reply was, “Your father and I had to hock it for gas money and by the time we had the money to get it out, the goddamn thing was gone!” Disappointment and resignation was a common theme in my household growing up and the topic of her lost engagement ring was no different. This helped to reinforce the point the nothing was above pawning.

On my 15^th birthday I was presented with a pearl ring with two accent diamonds on either side. I opened it to much delight. My mother stated, “Instead of a class ring we bought you this. Class rings are stupid and you can get a lot more for this at a pawnshop. You know, in case you need money in college.” Did I mention that nothing was above pawning?

I made my way out of high school, through college and into my graduate program. Then Rob asked me to marry him. On bended knee in a canoe, in the middle of a lake he gave me a beautiful diamond engagement ring. I was so excited! After dinner we stopped by my mother’s house to tell her. She feigned excitement or rather her level of interest was less than what I had expected. She examined the ring and said plainly, “It’s nice. Don’t get too attached in case you need to pawn it!” “Mom!” I was indignant. Rob was confused. My mother added, “You never know what will happen. I am just saying don’t get too attached to stuff.”

Several years after that exchange, Rob and I were driving from the realtor to our just purchased home. I began to cry. Rob said, “I know it is really exciting!” My response was, “No! No! Just promise me that we will never sleep in a car and I will never have to hock my engagement ring!” Rob chuckled and said, “Oh, honey. I promise. That won’t happen.”

I am happy to say that I have never had to pawn anything. In fact I still have my 15^th Birthday present and my mother’s simple wedding band. However, when I am presented with fine jewelry as a gift, I still think, “don’t get too attached.” Perhaps on some level this was sage advice. After all, isn’t the emotional connection to diamonds and other gems created by DeBeer’s and other jewelry conglomerates? I guess I can see clearly both sides. Material items are material items and should be used as such but when they hold meaning and memories they cease to be just, “stuff.”

When people comment or compliment me on my jewelry I want to say, “Thanks! I think I could pawn it for a tank of gas.” Then I realize that most wouldn’t understand.