Today would be my father’s 85th birthday. For the last 9 years my father’s ashes have resided in the faux wood cardboard box that the mortuary placed them in. On several occasions I have considered purchasing or making an appropriate urn as an upgrade to his current residence. After several urns were made for special rabbits from work, I decided it was time to make one for my father. My original idea was an urn with ginkgo leaves. I envisioned the leaves gently falling in a random (and sparse) pattern at the top becoming a dense jumble at the base. When it came down to it the ginkgo didn’t speak to me. It wasn’t a symbol that reminded me of my father. Instead I left the jar plain. I topped the lid with a single acorn. It is understated. It is a symbol of possibility and the intention to greatness. It reminds me that my father was strong. He was not a showy person. He wore white socks and white shirts and a white hat. Not that he was milquetoast. He was quiet in his convictions, stern and stoic. Like acorns dropping from trees and “bonking” unsuspecting pedestrians, he had a sense of humor. The acorns fall producing sustenance but most of all the anticipation of another generation of mighty oaks. My father’s legacy lives on in me and my sisters and in our sons and daughters. I’m hopeful that there will be more trees and more acorns.