February 21, 2001

Watching television at home during a school break one day, my father came up to me and handed me a jade ring. It was huge and white with pale green wisps. It was pretty ugly, actually.

"Uh, what's this?"

"It was your grandfather's favorite ring. He wore it all the time. He had it for as long as I could remember. I found it while cleaning up. My fingers are too big for it, so you can have it."

"No, I shouldn't take it. It should be yours."

"I want you to have it."

My fingers were too small for the ring, but I kept it anyway. It reminded me of my grandfather's dry thin hands. That old man smell.

...

My grandfather scared the crap out of me when I was a kid. On visits to relatives, he'd sit in straight-backed wooden chairs, staring straight ahead. My grandmother would be gabbing loudly, pointing this way and that.

My parents would say something about me to my grandfather; I knew enough Chinese to know my name, and enough to know when I was in trouble. His eyes would then pick me out, and he rose, like Night of the Living Dead, arms outstretched, shaking, muttering something in Chinese.

His dry thin hands would touch my face and I could smell his old skin. He'd mutter something else, and then my parents would then tell me to say "Thank you" in Chinese.

This was a ritual for every time we'd visit.

My ritual was to run as fast as I could after it was done.

...

I have no special attachment to my grandfather, since he spoke only Chinese and I spoke only English. When he passed away, I mourned mostly for my father, and for the burden he took upon himself to plan the funeral.

So, really, I kept the ring for my Dad. I thought there was some significance. Something like a family heirloom. Perhaps there were stories to pass along to my kids. I'd ask Dad later.

...

I fell asleep before class even started once. It was a new low. I slept, slumped against the wall when the stomping from bored feet woke me up. Groggy, I stumbled into the classroom, walked to a seat, and fell asleep again.

I woke half-way through the lecture. I can't remember if it was about Zeus castrating his father, or something about electron energy states, but I realized that I didn't have the ring.

When the professor dismissed the class, I had another reason to run out of there as fast as I could. Lo and behold, lying where I had slept, was the white-green jade ring.

I picked it up, and it fell apart in my hands.

...

On my weekly progress report phone call to home, I gathered up the courage to tell my Dad what had happened to his father's favorite ring. It wasn't easy, considering I was also failing half my classes.

"Dad," I squeaked. "Grandpa's favorite ring? It got broken. I'm really sorry. I can't believe it happened."

There was a brief pause. "That's OK. Don't worry about it."

That only made me feel more guilty. "I'll fix it. Really. But it's missing a piece."

"Don't worry about it. He bought it from a cheap street vendor. It's not worth anything. He just liked how it looked."