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How passion truly is more important than price
Over a decade ago, I was at a trade show admiring displays. The show was located between a small town square that had buildings circled around, with tents put up in its center. Brightly colored flags spread across the area, people young and old gathered with faces of glee as they walked around to the different displays.
I was 10 years old, not yet capable of earning an income. But I was accompanied by my dad who walked with me and pointed out different people whom he knew. I was given $8 to spend at the trade show, not a lot now that I’m older, but as a young kid it was money nonetheless that I could spend.
Walking around, I separated from my dad to gaze at the different booths. Being in a small country neighborhood, honey bees were the statement of most displays.
Honey jars, graphs on posters showing educational material, and artistic works of honey combs were displayed on a few booths. Others were different; some sold jam, others thrift clothing, and another jewelry.
My eye landed on an African decor booth. Necklaces dangled from the top of the tent, as well as earrings and bracelets. The stand they were hanging from made it easy to see the shapes and colors they had, like elephants, hearts, diamonds, amongst other things that caught my gaze.
But one in particular took hold of my vision, a heart-shaped glass pendant with gold spiraling in its center.
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I walked right up to the booth and said “Hi” to the man running it. He had dark tanned skin with friendly, wrinkled eyes as he spoke to me.
I conversed with him for what must have been 10 minutes. He talked to me about his inspirations for his jewelry, and how him and his wife handcrafted the pieces themselves. I nodded politely as my eyes searched over the numerous amount of jewelry again, thinking,
They made every single one?
I looked back at the necklace, but with a newfound appreciation. The way the exterior glass shone in the sunlight, and the gold spiral glittering brightly against its black canvas. I picked up the pendant, studying it more closely with my curious eyes, noting an imperfection in the glass.
It was a small dent, not like it had been dropped, but as if it was molded and ended up in that shape. I looked more closely, seeing the slight upward shape at the end of the heart; not perfect.
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I looked up at the man, who had crafted the pendant by hand. Turning the pendant between my hands, I gave him a wide grin and asked, “How much for this necklace?”
He beamed back at me, “It’s 8.
“I only have 8.” I replied, frowning and setting the necklace back down. He picked up the pendant himself, turning it over thoughtfully. Then looking back at me he responded in a husky accent, “I forgot, I have a discount today on these pendants. Go ahead and keep it.” He gave a smile at me, stretching out a hand as mine grasped the necklace back.
I grinned, “Thank you sir!” And I went skipping off to view other booths.
Even as a young kid at 10, I fondly remembered how the kind man had discounted the price purposefully, even though he must have put hours of work to craft the pendant- along with his wife.
With the modern conveniences of mass production, we forget how long items take to make. Toys, books, jewelry… these were at one time all hand-made, but the passion of its creation having been forgotten.
Time forgetting the original makers of such pleasures we now neglect.
Usually, children at 10 years old are given a piece of jewelry and grow out of it by the next year- if even that. But to this day at almost a decade later, I have hung onto it and continue to wear it. The cord broke about 2 years ago, it was made of a polished thread, also hand-made. But I ended up tying it around itself, shortening the length but not disabling me from using it.
Image by Author — 8/8/2023
To this day, I think about going back to him to thank him for all the uses that I’ve had, it’s my favorite pendant after all. But thinking back at how young I was, he would never recognize me. Most of all, I wouldn’t recognize him or know where to find him now!
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The moment has been lost in time, but not lost in memory. For years to come I’ll still wear that same gold-spiraled, handcrafted pendant. Maybe I’ll even hand it off to my children when they can appreciate its delicate glass work.
Note from Author: This experience has been very dear to me over the years, but it wasn’t until the other day ago that I thought to write it.
Have a great day & hope you enjoyed this read!