The lovely Madelyn Simone enjoys coming to spend the night at Pop-Pop’s house about once a month. Upon her arrival, she makes her habitual rounds: watching the “baby” movie (the newborn video of our son Dan), stacking the Matryoshka dolls, and shining her Pop-Pop’s flashlight on the ceiling with much vigor.

She also likes to dig through the box of bracelets on my dresser, trying on the various baubles held within. One bracelet was a gift from a dear friend, who gathered together small pictures of the women in my life, including my mother, my sister, my daughter-in-law, and special friends. I wore that bracelet regularly, holding those precious women close to my heart through the death of my dad, the uprooting of our family from Canton, and even my dissertation defense. At some point it got consigned to the jewelry box, but those women remain dear to me in ways I will never forget. On each visit, Madelyn and I look at their faces together, naming them and telling a story or two about who they are. I do so with the prayer that she will have such precious and powerful women in her life some day.

Madelyn’s favorite, however, is the charm bracelet I wore as a young teen-ager. She invariably asks me, “What’s this, Nana? Why do you have a broken football on your bracelet?” Yes, Madelyn, the football broke, and since it was soldered on to my bracelet, I can’t get it off.

Just as pedal-pushers have been reborn into capris, so too has the charm bracelet survived a number of reincarnations. They were popular during the reign of Queen Victoria, and when her dear Prince Albert died, she even had “mourning charms” created, including lockets of his hair and miniature pictures of her beloved. 

In the 1940’s, charm bracelets went through a gumball phase, as children wore tiny plastic charms collected from gumball machines and candy boxes. These charms were worn on bracelets and dog tag chains, and included cartoon figures such as Betty Boop, Little Orphan Annie, and Mickey Mouse. And in recent years, many women cherish their Pandora bracelets, with the popular hearts, flowers, and cupcakes encircling their wrists.

In the late 60s, I received my own sterling silver bracelet, and would often find a tiny charm nestled in a gift box at Christmas or a birthday. As jewelry designer Tracey Zabar describes, that charm bracelet became a “history on the wrist.” Its jingling charms tell the story of those teen years, of a trip to Massachusetts to celebrate my cousin’s wedding, a weekend spent at Alleghany State Park, and my alma mater, Tonawanda High School.

These charms have withstood the test of time, as I’m still a smitten football fan, and while I traded the woodwind timbre of the flute for the brass horn of the Salvation Army, music still brings me great joy. The miniature grand piano charm is tarnished, but my love for its keys has not dulled, as I take pleasure in the baby grand nestled in the curve of our living room window.

An additional charm bears the image of praying hands, and from the miniscule print on the reverse, I can still make out the rhythm of Reinhold Neibuhr’s insightful words: “God, give me grace to accept with serenity the things that cannot be changed, courage to change the things which should be changed, and the wisdom to distinguish the one from the other.” Little did I know then how often those words would be prayed over the course of my life.

From the perspective of forty-plus years, my charm bracelet is a visual reminder that much of our character is formed in our childhood years. Who I was then, although molded and shaped by the connecting years, carried the same zest for life, the same love of music, and the same foundations of faith that continue to form me today. Pierce Harris tells us, “Memory is a child walking along the seashore. You never can tell what small pebble it will pick up and store away among its treasured things.” Or what memories will be awakened as a granddaughter reaches into a jewelry box.