True Treasure

Alyssa clutched her leather satchel close as she stood frozen in the sea of faces. There had to be thousands of people inside the convention center, with just as many standing outside, waiting to be let in. It was more than the entire town population. Where did they all come from, and how did so many people have family antiques to show off? 

She began to feel as though maybe she shouldn’t have come, and that her piece was not worthy of the famous national television program. When leaving the house that morning, she had felt much more confident in her submission for “Family Heirlooms Day” at the Antiques Roadshow event. But upon observing the other pieces entering through the doors, she felt so small and plain.

No, you’re going in, she thought to herself. You’re halfway through the line, and besides, you already paid $20 for parking.

Shifting from foot to foot anxiously, Alyssa watched as the myriad of people before her presented their items to the veritable roadshow bouncers waiting just in front of the door. Some people were sent to the right, to have their items reviewed by specialists for a fee. Some were sent to the left, to have their items considered for a spot on camera, and a small handful were less-than-courteously turned away altogether. 

I’m going to be sent to the right, she thought. That’s okay, I can handle that. At least I can get a valuation. It’s better than being kicked out. And they won’t turn me away…at least, I don’t think they would…”

Alyssa’s anxiety rose to form a lump in her throat, demanding that she abandon her task and avoid the potential embarrassment of being banned. But before she had the chance to turn away, a gruff voice called out, “NEXT!!!”

She turned to find a burly, sordid man beckoning her to approach him. Hesitantly, she shuffled forward, taking the strap from around her neck and handing him her satchel. He looked inside the bag, back up at Alyssa with a look of apparent distaste, then pointed to the right. 

“That way.”

Slightly disappointed but relieved, Alyssa turned to the right and got in line behind the approximately 700 other people who had been sent to the less illustrious side. The pressure was off, and now she could simply wait her turn in the queue, receive another lackluster look of tactful disdain from the examiner, and go home with her sad but concrete verdict.

After about 45 minutes of listening to the generic din of wailing children, overenthusiastic attendees, and irate, insulted patrons, Alyssa was finally granted an audience with an appraiser. A rather tired looking woman with horn-rimmed glasses and sagging countenance beckoned her with a single hand gesture. She then pointed at the counter in front of her, directing Alyssa to set down her item for examination. 

Okay, this is it. Get the number, have your answer, then get out of this overcrowded nightmare.

The woman grasped the satchel and flipped open its top flap, with a look of expectant boredom already drawn upon her face. She looked inside quickly, then back up at Alyssa, mouth formed and ready to give a rehearsed response. But she paused, and took a second look at the item. She pulled it out, examining it closely with her magnifying eye loupe. She shot Alyssa a doubtful glance, then made eye contact with one of the bouncers, who began making his way over to the booth.

Oh no, do they think I stole it? That it’s counterfeit? This is absolutely mortifying! I’m going to get kicked out in front of all of these people!!!”

But there was nothing she could do, except await her fate, and watch the ill-tempered man zigzag through the crowd to render her doom. When he arrived, he placed a firm hand on her shoulder and started to lead her toward the door.

“Wait!” the examiner called out. “You misunderstand! You placed this young woman in the wrong line!”

The bouncer paused, and turned back with an air of disbelief and annoyance. “How’s that again?”

“I said, you placed her in the wrong line,” the appraiser smartly accused, also annoyed at the situation. “This item is far more valuable than your crude eye could ascertain. Take her over there, and place her toward the front of the line, they are going to want to see this as soon as possible!”

Muttering under his breath, the bouncer begrudgingly led a stunned Alyssa across the convention center, past the endless line of people hoping to be on TV, straight to the filming area. A finely dressed woman with a gilded wooden box was already standing with an appraiser under hot studio lighting, 3 cameras pointed in their direction. And a caricature of a man dressed in a bright, multi-colored suit was being attended to by hair and makeup personnel, getting ready to go on next. 

“This is as close to the front of the line as you’ll get,” the bouncer stated flatly. “Wait here. They’ll call when they’re ready for you.” He then turned without another word, leaving Alyssa standing awkwardly on her own. She watched as the film crew indicated that they were live, causing the appraiser to jump into character. 

“Well, now, this is quite the beautiful box you have here! Why don’t you tell us more about it, and the family heirloom it contains?”

The finely dressed woman puffed out her chest with pride and cleared her throat. “Well, as you can see, this fine box is made of only the rarest extinct chola wood, and has been decorated with gold, silver, and emeralds. It has been in my family since the 1850s, when my great-great-great grandfather moved to North America with only a million dollars and 8 small businesses to his name. He used the contents of this box to build up his fortune, and become a self-made man.”

The appraiser remained placid, and his TV-ready expression did not waver. “Fascinating!” he responded, as the camera zoomed in on the box. “Now, would you be so kind as to open the box, and show us the heirloom?”

Without allowing him to even finish his sentence, the woman flung open the lid to show its contents. An unpleasant odor arose from the box, spreading disgusted looks within a 50 foot radius. “This,” she said loudly, so everyone could hear, “is my family’s Sense of Charity.”

Ever-faithful to the cameras, the appraiser’s eyes watered at the sour stench, but his face never gave way. “May I have a closer look?”

“Of course! You will find nothing but the finest!”

The appraiser pulled on his gloves and picked up the Sense of Charity, examining it closely from all sides. He motioned for the cameras to zoom in to a particular spot on the piece. “This is a beautiful piece, indeed, from the outside, and no doubt hand-crafted to appear to be top-notch and authentic,” he began, “but if we look here, we can see that this was actually painted over in several areas, and charitable deeds were done in order for personal gain here, and there is some chipping at the ends where it was used for money laundering.”

He looked up at the deflating woman and said, “I am afraid, madam, that this is a False Sense of Charity. A counterfeit. A very clever one, at that, but not real.”

The woman’s deflation turned to rage, and she grabbed up her item in a huff, shoved it back inside its box, and stormed away. 

The cameras immediately flickered off. “We can get what we need in editing, right?” the director murmured into an earpiece dangling off of his left side. “We can? Perfect. Okay, next person, please! Sir, you’re up, please, come on stage!”

The gentleman in the flamboyant outfit all but flew up onto the stage in a flurry of fluttering sleeves and dazzling sequins. Once in position, he smoothed out his coat and shook the legs of his pants. The appraiser blinked and squinted in an attempt to adjust to the shine of the outfit. 

Alyssa was in such awe over the sparkles and showmanship that she’d forgotten entirely why she was there. The hair dresser, who was having no luck in getting her attention, had to get up and lead Alyssa by the arm to the prep area. As she was being fussed over, Alyssa watched the man saunter about, ready for his time in the spotlight.

“What an amazing outfit you have!” the appraiser gushed as soon as they were rolling. “I can only imagine that this is the item you have brought to share with us today.”

The man beamed as brightly as his clothing. “Why yes, good sir, you are correct. This has been in the family for 4 generations. It is our Can-Do Attitude, which my great-great aunt designed and created herself. Here, have a look at the stitching.”

The man shed his coat and thrust it toward the appraiser before he could utter a response. Holding it tenderly, the appraiser examined the fabric with his fingers, holding it up closely to his eyes. 

“A fine fabric, and the stitching was done with care. That much is certain. And this is an authentically made piece, your approximate date of manufacture is accurate.” The appraiser hesitated, then turned the coat inside out. “However, this is not a Can-Do Attitude. As you can see from the inner lining, it is made from tears of genetically-induced depression, people-pleasing tendencies, and intergenerational trauma.” 

The man’s colors faded slightly from his rosy cheeks, but the lines on his face suggested that he already knew some of what the appraiser explained. He stayed somber and silent, only nodding occasionally to convey attentiveness. 

“While this is a well-made item, it is more accurately called, Denial, or in some circles it is also known as a Coping Mechanism. It is unfortunately very common, and not all that valuable, except to the family that bears it.”

The man nodded once more but said nothing, and after gathering his coat, he shook the appraiser’s hand and walked off of the stage. Alyssa’s heart pounded in her chest as she realized her turn was next, and the appraiser would soon be picking apart her item, just as he had the attendees before her. The appraiser wiped his forehead with a handkerchief, placed it back into his pocket, and turned to smile at Alyssa. 

“Come on up, my dear! Let’s see what you have for us today.”

Somehow, without any knowledge as to how it happened, Alyssa found herself under the bright lights, face to face with the appraiser. Up close, she could see the pores on his face filled with cakey foundation, and the smudges of concealer on his collar. He had a gentle scent of all things old, which was familiar and welcoming. 

“Did you hear me, miss? Would you like to show us what is in your bag there?”

Alyssa snapped out of her anxiety-induced trance bubble, and placed her bag on the table. Unable to speak, she stood silently staring wide-eyed at the appraiser. Behind the cameras, the director threw his hands in the air and jumped up and down, desperately trying to get her to talk. 

The appraiser, sensing the rising tensions, utilized every ounce of his charm and experience to speak on her behalf. “Why don’t we just take a look inside here to see what marvelous treasure you’ve chosen to share toda-”

A collective gasp followed by hushed whispers blanketed the recording area as the appraiser held up Alyssa’s family heirloom. 

“I haven’t seen anything like this since I was young,” he mused breathlessly. “Let us check for authenticity before we become too excited, as there are countless fraudulent versions on the market.”

He turned the piece over in his hands gingerly, as if it were a cracked egg ready to spill its yolk. Alyssa noted the heaviness of the silence as everyone within earshot held their breath, awaiting his verdict.

“Ah, yes, we can see here that these crazing marks are indicative of when it was used to donate canned goods to the local food pantry. And here, the dings and dents, were where it found itself tending to an ill neighbor’s dog. And if we turn it over, we see the maker’s mark. The maker lacked flair or style, but this piece was never about being showy. It was meant to be used, and used it was!”

The appraiser carefully set the piece down on the table and declared a little too excitedly, “This is 100% authentic. You have a phenomenal example of Kindness, one of the last true examples, and possibly the only real piece our viewers will ever see. On today’s market, I would value this as invaluable, and irreplaceable.”

Alyssa picked up the Kindness and tucked it back into its unassuming satchel. The cameras stopped rolling and the crowd dispersed, still excitedly chattering about the incredible item they had just witnessed. As she began to exit the stage, the appraiser stopped her. 

“No matter what anyone offers you, never sell out. Your Kindness is worth more than anything anyone could ever give you for its forfeit.”

He flashed her the most genuine of smiles before turning his attention to the next person in line, his face resuming its excited-but-not-too-excited regime.

Alyssa walked toward the exit, once again holding her satchel close. She held a new appreciation for herself and her family, and what they had accomplished with only this one humble tool.