Anyone wonder about the whole "stealing spoons" thing? Well, this is the story. Very personal to me.
To say we’re being too loud, would not give the capabilities of our vocal cords the right amount of credit. It’s chaotic. Everyone is talking at once. Leaning over the tables with hands cupped around our ears to attempt a conversation.
There are six or seven tables jammed together, close to the front window. Same spot, every year. More of our family and friends are coming through the door, late as usually… It’s expected. Time’s really irrelevant. This always takes all night, anyways.
The date is January 16th. And I’m sitting in one of iHop’s uncomfortable wooden chairs. Just like every year.
I order chocolate chip pancakes. I dowse them in maple syrup. And I’m drinking sweet tea. (Georgia sweet tea, mind you.) Just like every year.
I do it every year. Usually, by the end of the night I’m sick. But it’s all worth it.
My aunt and her boyfriend are arguing about football and teams… Georgia/Tennessee…
My cousins can’t sit still to save their lives, not that all that syrup helps, and one of them just threw a cheese stick at me. I almost retaliate, but choose to act my age… At least until the waitress is out of sight.
My mom is getting antsy, I think she needs a cigarette, but she’s in between my cousin and her husband… Because they’re fighting over her new choice of hair style… So my mom’s not getting out anytime soon.
Carl’s telling the story about his dad burying their old refrigerator in the backyard…
Then someone pulls out the photo album. And the collection of drawings. Eyes begin welling with tears and soon we’re all laughing at his goofy camera poses and that long hair of his that he never got cut. We reminisce about what talent was lost, as we flip through the drawings we’ve all seen a hundred times.
And around the over crowded table-conjunction of ours, spoons are disappearing. One just went into a purse. Two just got jammed into a coat pocket. There went one "accidentally" falling into my cousin’s lap.
With a glance to my left then right, I reach for my spoon, next to the butter knife, and shove it into my jean pocket.
On the morning of January 16th of 1999, my cousin Michael Marshall was in a head on car collision that claimed his life. At the tender age of seventeen. He was an artist and an avid collector of spoons. He actually stole a spoon from every restaurant he ever went to.
Somehow, it became a tradition. Remembering Michael with a yearly get-together, that’s always at the same time, and always at the same place, iHop. And that’s only because it is the closest restaurant to the cemetery, besides the Huddle House.
(Now, don’t think me and my family to be nothing but a bunch of spoon thieves. We always tip big. Enough to cover the cost of about 20 spoons iHop knows they are going to lose on the same night, ever year.)
After we’ve finished our rather loud dinner, we head to the cemetery, with all our spoons in tow.
We all gather around Michael’s grave. We light a memorial candle, after fighting over who will get to light it that year. We say a prayer.
And then we each take our spoon and stick them into the soil in a circle around his grave marker.
Every time I visit his grave, I remember to grab a spoon from the kitchen drawer. It’s nothing real remarkable. It’s just my family’s way of keeping Michael’s memory alive.
One stolen spoon at a time.
To say we’re being too loud, would not give the capabilities of our vocal cords the right amount of credit. It’s chaotic. Everyone is talking at once. Leaning over the tables with hands cupped around our ears to attempt a conversation.
There are six or seven tables jammed together, close to the front window. Same spot, every year. More of our family and friends are coming through the door, late as usually… It’s expected. Time’s really irrelevant. This always takes all night, anyways.
The date is January 16th. And I’m sitting in one of iHop’s uncomfortable wooden chairs. Just like every year.
I order chocolate chip pancakes. I dowse them in maple syrup. And I’m drinking sweet tea. (Georgia sweet tea, mind you.) Just like every year.
I do it every year. Usually, by the end of the night I’m sick. But it’s all worth it.
My aunt and her boyfriend are arguing about football and teams… Georgia/Tennessee…
My cousins can’t sit still to save their lives, not that all that syrup helps, and one of them just threw a cheese stick at me. I almost retaliate, but choose to act my age… At least until the waitress is out of sight.
My mom is getting antsy, I think she needs a cigarette, but she’s in between my cousin and her husband… Because they’re fighting over her new choice of hair style… So my mom’s not getting out anytime soon.
Carl’s telling the story about his dad burying their old refrigerator in the backyard…
Then someone pulls out the photo album. And the collection of drawings. Eyes begin welling with tears and soon we’re all laughing at his goofy camera poses and that long hair of his that he never got cut. We reminisce about what talent was lost, as we flip through the drawings we’ve all seen a hundred times.
And around the over crowded table-conjunction of ours, spoons are disappearing. One just went into a purse. Two just got jammed into a coat pocket. There went one "accidentally" falling into my cousin’s lap.
With a glance to my left then right, I reach for my spoon, next to the butter knife, and shove it into my jean pocket.
On the morning of January 16th of 1999, my cousin Michael Marshall was in a head on car collision that claimed his life. At the tender age of seventeen. He was an artist and an avid collector of spoons. He actually stole a spoon from every restaurant he ever went to.
Somehow, it became a tradition. Remembering Michael with a yearly get-together, that’s always at the same time, and always at the same place, iHop. And that’s only because it is the closest restaurant to the cemetery, besides the Huddle House.
(Now, don’t think me and my family to be nothing but a bunch of spoon thieves. We always tip big. Enough to cover the cost of about 20 spoons iHop knows they are going to lose on the same night, ever year.)
After we’ve finished our rather loud dinner, we head to the cemetery, with all our spoons in tow.
We all gather around Michael’s grave. We light a memorial candle, after fighting over who will get to light it that year. We say a prayer.
And then we each take our spoon and stick them into the soil in a circle around his grave marker.
Every time I visit his grave, I remember to grab a spoon from the kitchen drawer. It’s nothing real remarkable. It’s just my family’s way of keeping Michael’s memory alive.
One stolen spoon at a time.
8 Back Talkers:
That is extremity moving and touching.
Made me think in what ways that people would remember me if I died suddenly in a car crash or something like that.
You've left me with some food for thought and there is a lot to chew on.
That story was really touching. When my aunt died about 9 years ago, everyone that went to her funeral got a Hersey's kiss. My aunt loved chocolate and wasn't good at sharing it LOL. We all joked about how this was the only time she shared chocolate. Now, whenever I eat a Hersey's kiss, I think of her.
First of all, you definitely have a way with words. You telling that story, the words you used, the flow... it hit a spot with me. My uncle died a week ago and it's going to take a long time to come to terms with the fact that he's no longer here, and your blog sort of gave me a lift from all of that pressure I've been feeling since.
Secondly, "Georgia" sweet tea is the only kind of sweet tea worth mainlining. Lol. I was raised on the stuff. :)
Beautiful story. My great grandfather (we called him Pepa) was a bit of a prankster. He would clip clothes pins to the back of your shirt as you would walk away, you'd never notice until you got home. He passed away about 5 years ago, so everyone in the family wrote a small note on clothes pins and clipped them on his blazer before he was laid to rest. It's funny the little things that make you smile and think of that special person, like a clothes pin... or a spoon.
Yes, what Langley said, "extremely moving and touching".
This is a very sweet story. I'm sure your cousin is thrilled how y'all go through such a ritual every year just for him.
Speaking of sweet, what's the difference between GA sweet tea and TX sweet tea? Hmm...I see a trip in my future ;)
This is an absolutely beautiful and touching story. Here I am moved to tears on a Monday morning. I just came across your blog but I definitely look forward to reading in the future.
Best,
Hannah Katy
Wow... not only is this story so beautiful and moving, you are an excellent writer! fantastic blog!
Thanks you guys.
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