HONK

That horn. That big, curvy, brass, old-timey horn. Mom and Dad had gone on one of their regular trips to Cape Cod. While not necessarily into antiques, they did like the unusual, things that were fun but mellow. Our house was very conservatively decorated in what I would call Colonial Irish: lots of oak and brass, with some tartan patterned furniture, delicate table lamps, and a huge roll-top desk. Not my style, and not as warm and welcoming as my best friend’s home, which was filled with mismatched tag sale items and had a very “lived in” feel to it.

Even after I had become an adult, my parents still always brought me a gift every time they went away, even from Cape Cod where I had spent every summer. These are the perks of growing up as an Only Child.

On the occasion of the horn, I was twenty years old and home from college. Following a Cape Cod weekend, they rolled in, back to our Connecticut home, late on a Sunday afternoon. My Mom walked in, kissed me, and said, “Daddy bought something because he knew you’d really like it”. She waited for my Dad to get it and show it to me. For the record, my Dad was a quiet guy who hated attention. He wasn’t into presentations unless the subject matter was important to him. This was.

He reached into a paper bag and pulled out the horn. Right away I was surprised they had bought something so whimsical for the home. When I smiled, my Dad squeezed the black bulb on the end and it made an old fashioned bellow. And then he laughed, and I laughed, and my Mom smiled.

While my Dad was not an angry man, or a mean man, he was a gentle giant with a reputation for being a rough guy. He only smiled or laughed around my Mom and me, and a handful of close friends.

They hung the horn in the kitchen over the table, alongside some brass and wood kitchen decorations, like a framed Irish blessing, and an iron train car. That horn brought me joy every time I looked at it, and every now and then, when I was alone in the house, I’d squeeze the bulb and smile.

When I was almost thirty-one, my Dad was diagnosed with cancer and died three weeks later. A month after that, Mom had to go to a nursing home sue to advancing MS. Packing up all of their belongings broke my heart. I remember throwing a lot of things away and giving away even more, but that horn was one of the first things I packed and brought to my home. It now hangs over my living room picture window. I can’t HONK it without using a ladder, but just looking at it brings me comfort, and reminds me of my parents, whom I loved so dearly.