A Retirement Party for an Old Friend: Saying goodbye to our Coleman Lantern

I would like to begin today’s post by apologizing for my last.  It was posted in haste and the grammatical errors made it virtually unreadable.  I have fixed them now, and it should make a bit more sense.  Now, on with the show. . .

There are but a few material possessions that stand the test of time.  Those that never cause you regret for the dollar spent.  The tricky part is knowing what they are.  The best are the easiest to spot.  They are those things that haven’t changed for as long as your memory serves.  They haven’t changed because it CAN’T be done better.  There may be tweaks and added features along the way, but the essence of the item always remains the same.  Too often, we are caught in this breakneck race to improve everything from one generation to the next.  Adding space aged polymers where we can, and completely re-writing the script when faced with declining sales.  I picked the Coleman Lantern because it exemplifies this time tested traditionalist sentiment at its best.  Sure, you can go out and purchase a battery powered plastic piece of shit that will last you one camping trip at a fraction of the cost, danger, and headache, but there isn’t a better way to light your campsite than the old standard with a gas bottle and dual mantle.  I have one myself that has been passed down a generation or two and it will likely see adult service by my young tribe.  The design hasn’t changed much in decades and you can get the same lantern and its component parts to this very day.  Having a hectic lifestyle and fairly young children has seen to it that my camping equipment lay woefully dormant for some time now, collecting more dust than hours of service.  Both boys are now old enough to enjoy a camping experience, so such activities are on our Spring “to-do” list.  That being said, this isn’t the intended focus of our discussion here today.  I have one other item in my possession that seems destined to be as timeless as my trusty Coleman Lantern.  While it is a fair bit younger in age, it has served my family well.  It has in fact become a crutch that has held us up from collapsing into a demoralized heap on more than one occasion.  So what is it that has me so smitten?  It is a tattered and worn umbrella stroller that has seen both my boys on many a voyage down dirt path and city street.  Metropolitan life in France is lived on foot.  If one choses to live close to the center of the village, you wouldn’t have a need for motorized transport at all.  EVERYTHING is in walking distance.  That is one of the truly attractive features of that lifestyle.  Everything . . . sorry . . . EVERYTHING is within your grasp.  That being said, the French are quite used to this bipedal lifestyle and to expect one’s children to march for miles without complaint is understandable.  They have done so since birth.  While I would argue that my 4 year old is from as hearty a stock as there is, miles of distance run will have him worn slick and our outings cut short.  The truth of the matter is, mom and I find the thing damned convenient and have used it as a playground, handtruck, and on rare occasion  . . . battering ram.  This thing has done it all.  Alas, I feel that my youngest has outgrown it and despite the inevitable need to carry him on my shoulders after several hours on foot, we have officially retired our old friend.  We are sad to see it go as it has seen us through many adventures.  With its passing comes a recognition that we no longer have babies in our home.  “Big boys walk” says the youngest.  And so they do, all the way to college and beyond.  Perhaps this is why we have held onto it for so long now.  Or maybe, bidding it a farewell is the same as saying goodbye to the life we once knew.

Regardless of the weepy sentiment, this thing is a juggernaut.  We have beaten and abused it like it was a piece of Samsonite hard shell luggage (another classic example of design perfection).  I think it was originally grey in color, but the dust and dirt has permanently stained it a muted tone of mother earth.  Despite routine cleaning, the original color has never returned.  To be completely honest, I am not even sure of the brand anymore.  I am going to have to sort that out, for I believe I owe that company a hearty thanks, a testimonial and an offer to pitch their product on national television.  I could Billy Mays the hell out of this thing.  Like ole Phil Dunfee once said . . . “I wouldn’t sell anything I don’t believe in . . . and when “ I” believe, “You” believe.  I could sell a fur coat to an Eskimo”.  As a side note, if you don’t know that show, you should tune in.  The writing is brilliant.  And so now we embark on a new chapter in our life.  We have “officially” gotten out of the baby business.  No more diapers, no more formula, no more strollers, no more happiness . . . we have big boys now, and big boys walk.  Perhaps one of the hardest things to do as a parent is to let your children transition from one cycle of life to another.  I believe I have mentioned this in prior posts, but we seem cling to our children’s youth in an unnatural way and somehow always seem to picture them as they were at age 2.  Perhaps it is the reality that one day I will stand face to face and shoulder to shoulder with a grown ass man, only to look him in the eye and say “there was a time in your life when I used to wipe your ass”.  I think that has a way of changing the way you perceive someone.  It’s just easier to picture them as they once were . . . always your shadow and always wanting if not needing your attention.  One day they will want and need it not . . . it is then that we must let go.   R.