Essay on Pockets

Invented to Fill with Love

Essay on Pockets
by C.J. Heck

This morning, I woke up thinking about pockets. Not the word, so much as what a pocket represented to its owner in our family when I grew up. A pocket isn’t just a plain old place to put things. There are so many different purposes for a pocket, depending on who its owner is and what the pocket is for.

When I was young, Mama was forever patching Daddy’s pockets that blew a hole from his pocket change or his keys. She also sewed pockets on pants that didn’t have any for my little brother, Chip. He adored pockets and he didn’t care if the pockets didn’t match the pants.

That’s where he put his treasures and special finds during a day’s play outside. He always had an important reason why he kept each discovery.

Of course, that meant when Mama did laundry, she had to be extra careful. She never knew what she would find when she emptied his pockets. The lucky stones weren’t too bad.

What made her cringe was the occasional toad, beetle, or hairy spider. You know, the critters. I think she just let them go outside, back to their tiny families. She put his special treasures in a coffee can on his dresser. She left it up to him what he wanted to keep or get rid of.

My youngest sister, Shari, also loved pockets. She was convinced she had an angel living in hers who always told her when something she wanted to say or do was good, or not so good.

Daddy tried to explain that it was her conscience talking to her –-something we all have, and how proud he was she listened to it. Shari wasn’t having any of it though. She had an angel and it lived in her pocket and that was that.

My gram had one large pocket right in the very center of her apron. All of us loved that pocket and the special things it held. Besides her glasses and an embroidered hanky, it almost always held a caramel or two for each of us, sometimes a paper with a new tongue twister she wanted to teach us, and a book to read to us. We never knew what might be in her pocket, only that it would be special and only for us.

Once I became a grandmother, I didn’t have the luxury of living in the same town, or even the same state as my eleven grandchildren. It was always sad when we had to part after a visit.

For that reason, I came up with what I called a Heart Pocket. You couldn’t see it. It was magic and it was invisible, but one was right over my heart and it was very real. I also put a heart pocket over the heart of each of my grandchildren.

Just before it was time to go, I put hugs and kisses in their heart pockets and I collected some from each of them for mine. That way, when they were homesick and missing me, they could reach into their Heart Pocket and get a Grammy hug or kiss.

It worked the same for me. When I needed a grandchild’s kiss or hug, all I had to do is reach into my Heart Pocket for them —and I often did.

Amazing how much action my magic heart pocket got over the years … and the memories they created for my grandchildren are priceless.