Tick-tock, tick-tock. The background sound of my youth.
Uncle Hank loved clocks and watches. So much so that his Lockhart, Texas home was a glorious symphony of clicks, clacks, and chimes. It's not that he was one of those harried men, always wondering what time it was and if he was late for something.
No, he loved the sheer presence of a beautifully made timepiece. The craftsmanship of the design, the earthy smell of gears, and especially the process of winding each and every one each and every morning.
Throughout his working days as a derrickhand and nights as a volunteer pitmaster, he always came home to his handcrafted treasures and found solace in their constancy and rhythm.
Whenever we ventured east from Odessa to pay Hank a visit, I would thrill to their sounds as well. And they have been an everlasting and meaningful part of my life ever since.
For instance, I vividly remember going hunting with him -- for new timepieces. How he would minutely examine each work of art, and the unabashed "eureka!" that rang out when he was inspired to part with his hard-earned cash.
Is it any wonder then, all these years later, that I still find the sound of a clock or watch comforting?
Of course, now I can pull out my smartphone and let you know what time it is anywhere in the world… as I simultaneously deposit three checks … while watching a video of quintuplets watching a miniature schnauzer play chopsticks on the piano.
But even then, in my mind, my uncle is always ticking away in the background.
Nowadays, his vast collection of family heirlooms is scattered all across the world. You can find them in 4 countries, 7 states... including, of course, mine too.
For all of us who loved him, these clocks & watches remain much more than the sum of their enduring parts. Whether it's the care in which they were created, or the majesty of being passed down from one generation to the next, one thing is for certain.
Their songs -- his songs -- are now our songs.
Day in, day out, they remain a reverberating testament to one of the strongest heartbeats of the family: our dear old Uncle Hank.
-- Submitted by B. Elliot, Chestnut Hill
