“Ding - dang - dong” goes my families grandfather clock. It rings as it looks down from the landing on the stair case in our living room. The smell of a home cooked meal lingers in the air as my family is sitting down to watch the evening news. The grandfather clock is our family heirloom, passed down generation to generation. With each generation: a new story begins.
With our family, our story begins with our grandfather clock; it really has seen it all, like a guardian always watching over us. My mothers dad bought it at the end of WWII, it was his first purchase for his house. She says that he bought it because her grandparents had one that looked similar to it but was lost whenever they moved. So, the story continues - my mother being the oldest, and the first to have children out of her siblings, got the grandfather clock first.
Throughout the years I remember hearing the “ding - dang - dong” and my mom yelling, “You are late again, Arin Renae!” The clock and then my mom were always the ultimate time manager, yelling to let me know I was late for class again. Even whenever the clock was not in working condition, somehow it still managed to ring. Not always on time, but it always rang: like it was always letting its presence be known.
The most captivating memory I have of the grandfather clock ringing was whenever the Twin Towers went down on September eleventh and the clock was ringing, but for some unusual reason; the clock only finished half of its ring. That was the day the clock stopped working. To this day my parents have not been able to get it to work again. With it being a few hundred pounds - it’s almost impossible to get a mechanic to drive out to the country to take a look at it.
Finally, the grandfather clock with all its glory: at its final resting place. In the same spot it has been for nineteen years. Digital alarm clocks and second hand wall clocks are slowly taking it’s place, but it will always be “our...