Although I enjoyed some more than others, one show really made me stop and think.
It was Pawn Stars, a “reality” program about a family owned pawn shop in Las Vegas.
In each episode we saw people drag items into the pawn shop they hoped would be of some value. For me, the most enjoyable part was the experts giving the history of an item and an estimated value.
Sometimes the item would be worth a decent amount or even a great amount of money, sometimes not. Regardless, it seemed to be a rare occasion when a person would say, “I think I’ll just keep it.” They almost always took the cash.
While it was interesting to learn all the history, a recurring theme began to needle me. Many people said, and I’m loosely paraphrasing here, “It doesn’t mean anything to me. I’m going to the casino!”
Please understand I really don’t care how people spend their money.
The one that sent me over the edge was the man selling his great-grandfather’s World War II helmet. As I recall, it was banged up and missing something which detracted from its “collector’s value.”
In the end, the man took the money—it wasn’t much—indicated that the helmet meant nothing to him and that he was going to take the money and either have a party or go to the casino.
Okay.
By my calculations, he could have skipped fast food for a couple weeks or gourmet coffee for a few days and had the same amount of money AND worn the helmet at the party!
It doesn’t mean anything to me.
Perhaps it meant something to the grandfather who got it from his dad.
Or to the man’s father who got it from his dad.
In this day and age of instant-newest-brightest-shiniest, I fear that dusty, old and you-spent-how-much-time?! is being pushed aside; sold for a few coin. Inherently historical and/or familial value is completely missed or disregarded.
It doesn’t mean anything to me.
Thinking of all I have gathered in my family history search I admit it is a lot of stuff and means quite a bit to me. However, my family doesn’t share my enthusiasm for the discoveries I’ve made.
“What is going to happen to all this work I’ve done when I’m gone? Will they toss it in the Herbie?”
Remembering a local special collections library I frequented in the past, I recalled having truly enjoyed reading the 1862 writings of a 42 year old man whose family had moved to Indiana when he was young. That diary mattered. His family realized its value and donated it to the repository.
Because of that experience, I made the decision to have my materials donated to organizations which will benefit from my research and make it available to others.
One day, it might mean something to someone.