My family’s heritage has never really been a topic of conversation. We’re Irish, for the most part, but that doesn’t hold much meaning for me. Mainly, it means that I can’t leave the house in the summer without copious amounts of sunscreen on. When I think about my family I think more about the people that are still with me now. I think about our future, and how we’re going to stay connected to one another.

Keeping that in mind, I tried to find something for this post that connected all of my family. There was the electric organ that had once been my grandma’s, but I didn’t really know the story behind it. There was the train-table in our basement, but that mainly belong to my dad. Then I remember the trunk.

This trunk had belonged to my aunt Connie at one point, but eventually got moved to my grandma’s house. It was a source of great amusement for me and my cousins growing up. It was filled with games, like marbles and hot wheels. It also had stuffed dinosaurs. We would play with these for hours. The best thing in the trunk though, was the scarf bag.

Anytime we would visit my grandma, in her condo in Rockland County, the scarf bag would make an appearance. The scarves came in all different sizes and colors. There was a scarf that was about the size of a beach towel. It was orange with a city sketched in black and light browns. There was also a deep blue one with gold flecks scattered across it. My favorite scarf was red and felt like velvet. It had long golden tassels at the end of it, and we would lay it on the ground to use it as a red carpet. Our red carpet showcased all the latest styles, including scarf headbands and skirts, and even shirts. We were maybe 5, when the scarf runway was in its prime. We would design our outfits and then trek upstairs to show our parents and our grandparents what the newest, most fashionable “look” was.

Years later, when we had gotten too old for the scarfs, my grandma moved. There wasn’t space in her new apartment, so the trunk came to live with us. I like to think that it will be passed down again. I hope that someday, when the next generation of Govin/Smiths comes along, they will open this trunk, with its rusty buckles and its crooked lock, and find the games, dinosaurs, and colorful scarves inside. Maybe they’ll have a fashion show, or maybe they’ll just race the hot wheels up and down the hallway. Either way, this trunk was a part of my childhood, and my cousin’s childhood. It connects all of our experiences growing up.  I hope that the tradition continues and that the trunk will be remembered as fondly then as it is now.