Something Old. Something New.

Kandiss looked around the apartment. It was beginning to look a lot like Christmas. As she threaded the garland around and through the bannister, thinking of the years she had done the same with her mom, she couldn’t help but mourn for David’s traditionless upbringing.

At the bottom of the spiral stair that led to their bedroom, she looked at the tiny living area and felt nothing but joy. A micro version of the Christmas splendor that she had basked in growing up with her family in Bloomfield Hills. A suburb of Detroit. Remembering the snow covered lawn and the frozen pond of her youth never ceased to draw forth the best memories. 

There would be no expensive gifts for the newlyweds to exchange and open together on their first Christmas morning, but Kandi was nonetheless determined to make it wonderful. David seemed content, maybe even joyful in the season, but she knew his happiness was in watching her celebrate, not in the celebration itself.

She had tried the last two years to gleam as much as possible about David’s life, drawing out one morsel at a time. On his own, only a rare emotional bread crumb fell. An occasional comment or reference let slip of the pain and sometimes embarrassment of losing his parents so young. Not knowing anything of his family or history. Though not bitter or even sad when she asked, so much as resigned, resolved and finished with that part of his life.

Through pushing and prodding, holding and comforting, she had learned the group home David grew up in held many foster children, most of them only a little while. Bill and Whendy, as he kindly, if not affectionately referred to them, his sometimes gaurdians, always trying, stand in parents. Thirteen years together, almost to the day, from his arrival until he left for college.

Setting a pot on the stove, filling it with cold milk and turning the knob to ignite the burner, she stopped for a moment and thought about David’s box. Earlier that summer, as they moved in together, she watched as he took it from his car and placed it in the small storage cabinet in the carport that protruded just a bit over the hood of her car when she parked.

As he closed the door, she asked of the contents. Clasping the lock, he said it was just an old box. Bill and Whendy gave it to him when he was thirteen. Said it was given to them by the social worker a few months after he came to live with them. He always wanted to go through it, but he liked the memories he created in his mind and didn’t want them ruined by the truth. The box didn’t feel like it had much in it anyways. 

Before she had a moment to think through what she was doing, she went to the drawer next to the sink that held their lease and other papers signed when they moved in. Lifting the stack out, she removed the paper clip, and as she remembered, behind the six page lease was a small piece of paper, imprinted with the combination for the lock the management company provided for the storage cabinet.

In a moment, dressed in running shorts, a sports bra, and bare feet, she was out the front door. Running along the ribbon of concrete, splitting the green bladed carpet, that led to her car. Her first Southern California Christmas might bring new and hopefully wonderful traditions for her and David, but it definitely would not bring snow.

Opening the lock on the first try, she swung the door wide and looked in. Four baby-blue plastic bins and a single box greeted her. She grabbed the box. Holding it under one arm, she closed the door, replaced the lock, and made her way back to the apartment. 

She reignited the burner, grabbed a cup, scooped some powder, and waited for the milk to warm. As she eyed the box, she wrestled with her decision. If David wanted her to see whatever was in there, he would have showed her himself. But David didn’t know himself what was in the box. How could he share it with her? Sometimes, she thought, we all need a push. 

Reconciled to it, she pulled the folded flower of cardboard corners that formed the only barrier to the contents within, and looked inside. There was not a lot there. Pulling out a worn copy of, “My First Torah,” circumstancial evidence that David was correct about his ancestry, even if it held no religious connection for him.

Recollection of the simmering milk, she set the book down and went to the stove. With a turn, the flame ceased. Donning an oven mitt, she poured the warm liquid into the prepared cup. Stirred, while again questioning her actions. Then, resigned to see though what she had begun, placed her mug beside the box and peered in.

Inside she found a smaller box. Pulling it out, she removed the lid to reveal a pair of young boy’s dress shoes. With little experience around small children, she had no idea what age little boy might have worn them. Nevertheless, her mind created an image of David, a couple of years old, based on nothing but the love she felt for him and the empathy she held for a little boy who lost his parents so young.

She returned to the work at hand and removed a small but very old clock. Her imagination painting an image of the clock in an old dark house, sitting on an antique table, placed upon a simple doily. Maybe in David’s mom’s or dad’s home when they were young. She wondered how she might be able to find out more about it.

Underneath where the clock had been, a small folio lay. Without a cover, it held only a few pictures, and below it she found a manila folder. She pulled them out together and placed the thin bundle on the counter. 

As she sat looking at the five photographs, she sipped her hot chocolate, trying to see beyond the images into the world in which they were taken. A single picture seemed to be of a small family. Mom and Dad together. Dad holding a little boy. Kandi recognized the little boy. And the shoes.

In another, a man stood smiling by a fireplace, one foot raised and set on the hearth. On the mantle, at eye level, the right edge covered by his face, was the clock retrieved from the box of mementos. Her imagination had not been exact, but the coincidence striking. The remaining pictures were very old. Kandiss thought they must be of relatives, many generations removed, but as to who and how they connected to David, unfathomable.

Who had placed these pictures in the small folio? Where were all the other artifacts that must have been accumulated over the years in the lives of David’s parents? There had to be more.

Finally, she picked up the folder and flipped it over. Lifting the brass ears of the clasp, she opened the folded wing. Now freed, a single sheet of paper slid from the aged sheath. Her hand trembled as she confirmed that David Seth Becker had never seen this document, or at least denied its veracity. His driver’s license and every conversation they shared about their lives, claimed David did not have, or at least was unaware of a middle name.

Not only did she now know more than her husband about his own name, but she knew much more than her husband about his family and life before Bill and Whendy. For better or worse, Kandiss knew not only where David was born, but also who his parents were, and where they were born. Even his mother’s maiden name revealed.

Sipping the last of her hot cocoa, Kandi put everything back in the box. As she looked at the Christmas tree, the stockings, Santa and Mrs. Clause, and all Christmas knick-knacks on every available surface, she was embarrassed by her lack of sensitivity to David’s life. His willingness to adopt all her traditions and beliefs were a sign of his love for her, but in trying to make their home festive, had she neglected to include something that celebrated his life. His heritage, if not his faith.

Kandi tried to remember each conversation they had shared as they learned about each other. Who they were. What they believed. How they had become who they are. There was little detail from David beyond the teachers who influenced him, friends and their families who welcomed him into their homes and lives, and a little of the love and direction he admitted came from Bill and Whendy. There was not a single inference she could recall that she could connect to David having ever opened this box.

In that moment, she decided she would change the future of the man she loved. Though they might never learn all of the history of the people who gave this man to her, she was determined to uncover what they could. Inspired, she googled, ‘when is Hannukah?’

Providence. It was the only explanation. Today was the first day of Hannukah. She had some work to do.

Putting the box in the closet, Kandi changed her clothes, put on some makeup and headed to Bed, Bath & Beyond. The obvious choice to locate a menorah. At least obvious after her second google search.

As she drove, she decided that it would be some kind of sacrilege to try to celebrate Hannukah in any orthodox manner as she knew nothing about it. But tonight, she would celebrate with David as best she could, the heritage to which he belonged.

Kandi waited by the window until she saw David’s car. In their two conversations of the day, it was agreed that she would make dinner, and he would be open minded about a new tradition they would be starting for their family.

She opened the door before he could reach for the knob. Standing in a beautiful dress, she lifted her arms, welcomed him home and into her embrace. 

David held her just as tight, “This is a very nice surprise. I could get used to this.”

Kandi released him and then soft punched him in the stomach, “Don’t insinuate that I am not always excited to see you when you get home,” and she stepped back in towards him, rocked on her tippy toes, kissed his lips, slipped him some tongue, “and there is more where that came from if you play your cards right.”

“Understood,” with a mock salute, “and excited. We are both standing at attention!”

She reached for his hand and led him to the small kitchen table covered with an embroidered tablecloth, a family heirloom handed down from her mother. Upon it sat two plates opposite one another with utensils adorning each side. Between them a small platter and bowls of the dinner she prepared.

To the left, another make shift table held a gift wrapped box and a menorah.

As they approached the table, David stared at the menorah. Unaffected by the box that looked like any other gift, he reached for her chair first and pulled it back, allowing her to sit, then helping her slide it forward. Kandi still relished how he valued her as a person, but still made her feel adored as a woman.

As he sat down, she thought she detected a rueful grin, then he spoke, “I was not aware I should have brought a gift for this new tradition of ours.”

“Nor should you have been, as this gift,” she rolled her extended hand as it panned toward the side table, “is as much for me as it is for you.”

His lips squeezed together. His nose twisted. His brows raised and arched.

“Now let’s eat and enjoy our dinner together,” and she passed him the chicken.

As they passed dishes back and forth, David looking a bit uncomfortable, “Is there anything you would like to tell me about this new tradition?” 

“Only that as you can see, we will be celebrating Hannukah this year. It starts tonight and last eight days. You have told me that you don’t know anything about Hannukah, and I know even less. I didn’t even know how to spell it before today. So for now, we will do the best we can to make it special. Even if it only means anything to us. And maybe one day our kids. But we can also learn more about it together. If you want to.”

David, less uncomfortable, “That sounds amazing sweetheart. And did I understand that part of the tradition includes the working on adding those kids?”

“Yes. Though once they arrive, you may not get that part of the tradition on the kitchen table.”

“Oh, as the details emerge, I find I am liking the new traditions more and more.”

As they ate she begin to prepare him for what lay ahead, “David, I am so thankful for the way you have taken my history, and my traditions and beliefs from before we met, and made them important to you. Even enough for you. But tonight, I want to start a tradition that celebrates your history, and who you are and where you come from as well. Are you okay with that?”

Concern covering his face, setting his fork across the side of his plate, he reached for her hand, “I have no idea what you have planned for tonight, and I surely don’t know how you will extend it for another seven days, is the whole dinner table thing part of the next seven nights too?”

She smiled, “That might be arranged.”

Humor covering his concern of a moment ago, “Anyways, I don’t know what tonight holds, but as long as I am holding you and you are holding me, I think I can do just about anything.”

She released his hand and pushed back the chair. From behind the menorah, she grabbed a lighter and lit the first candle, “From what I understand, this one is not so much a part of the Hannukah ceremony other than to light the eight other candles of the celebration.”

She grabbed the box and went around the table and stood next to David. He reached for the box and she motioned for him to scoot his chair back, “I want to be as close as possible to you when you open this.”

He pushed away from the table and she sat in his lap, holding the box.

“Can I unwrap you and then the box?”

“I think we will stick with the original plan, at least the first time,” and she winked.

As David reached to pull off the bow, Kandi said, “On the first night of Hannukah, the Becker family will take out the gifts of our heritage.”

David pulled his hands back, his eyes wary.

Grabbing one hand in each of her own, she placed them back on the box, “Let’s do this together.”

David removed the wrapping, then pushed down on the top of the box. The pressure releasing the two small bands of tape that held the box top closed. As he hesitated, Kandi opened the flaps and nodded for him to remove the treasures.

He pulled the box toward him to see the contents before he would reach for them. As his eyes filled with tears, she pulled his head close and cried with him.

Finally, releasing him, she spoke, “These will be the treasures we will share with our children. For the next seven days, we will learn all we can about this clock,” as she pulled it out and set it on the table, “our family,” and she retrieved the folio of pictures, “and our history,” and she removed the details of his birth.

David looked at each without a word, his face streaked with tears, nodding as she spoke.

She continued, “Each night we will celebrate our life together and all that made it possible.”

David picked up the folio, looking through the pictures he said, “And we will celebrate how for Christmas, your gift led me out of the darkness, bringing light into my past, and making it ours together.”

He pulled her in close. Thanking her with a kiss and beginning to unwrap his other gift.