The Broken Spoon

THE BROKEN SPOON

#TIE 2015

#care2feedGymGeorg

“Will you keep it?”

When we were little, Sundays at Uncle Richard's were a major event. For us, every room was a world to explore, an adventure to be invented.

But among all the objects that populated those corridors the most coveted by us children has always been an old broken spoon, kept in the bottom cutlery drawer.

That's right, a spoon with a hole! At first glance it might seem like a regular spoon, but how many stories and unforgettable experiences hid within that simple piece of steel.

What made it so exciting was that every time we asked Uncle Richard why he kept a spoon with a hole, he would broadly smile at us, set the kettle ready and would soon tell us incredible stories of how he got that special spoon.

And of course, we would ask: “Uncle Richard, why do you keep it? It has a hole!

You can’t eat your food with it!” He would always roll his eyes before answering.

And every time he would tell us a different story.

How he went to China and couldn’t eat with chopsticks so he bought a cheap spoon, which eventually broke but it was still better than not eating at all. How he went to the US and found this old spoon he thought was some relict from the Wild West. How he bought it at a flea market because he was told it’s the spoon of Napoleon.

He doesn’t tell his stories anymore. I’m not a child anymore. I don’t spend my Sundays at Uncle Richard’s home but his hospital bed. I’m the only one who regularly visits him. He still smiles his broad smile whenever I enter, though his voice is getting thinner every time.

“Amy!” he greats as I enter the room.

“Hello, Uncle Richard! How are you?”

“Still alive. So, did you bring any of this uneatable cafeteria food again? You know I hate it. They should pass a Law or something.”

“Uncle Richard, I need to ask you something…”

“Go on, Amy.” I gingerly pull the spoon, the old, broken spoon, out of my pockets, gently placing it between us. “Where is it really from?”

He frowns, licking his lips. He then chuckles, taking the spoon in his old, wrinkled hands.

“I knew this day would come. Do you really want to hear it?”

I just nod.

“Well, I might just say it would be a waste of resources, you could melt it down. But that’s not what you’re here for, is it? The truth is it reminds me of all the injustice in the world. It was a gift from a young girl in Central Africa. I shared my meal with her, because everywhere you looked was hunger. The girl was so thankful she gave me her only spoon. She insisted on equality. Equality that could and should be, but isn’t, because humans are selfish and humans envy each other. That’s why I kept it… Will you keep it for me?”

“Of course.”

Anne Westphal