My grandfather's sister, Lucy, was born in 1909. She and two of her sisters were labeled "old maids" in their early twenties, having not yet married. The story goes that their father commissioned three beautiful rings, each one unique, to be made by Carl Schon Jewelry in Baltimore, Maryland. My great grandfather reasoned that his girls would never receive engagement rings, so he provided rings for his "unclaimed blessings". Aunt Lucy did not have children of her own, but she forged a deep connection with my mother. Later on, when my mother shared that she was pregnant after having two boys, my great aunt asked my parents to consider naming the child, if a girl, after her. Supposedly, Aunt Lucy offered to pay for the child's clothes and shoes if they did, not small compensation for my cash-strapped folks. As the only girl born in my generation, my mother felt obligated to give me my grandmother's name, but she honored Aunt Lucy's request by using her name for my middle name. Official records aside, I've been known as "Lucy" ever since the moment I was born.
I grew up with the story of the rings for the three girls being told at my grandmother's table. There was some judgment in her retelling; after all, she escaped such a sentence by marrying my grandfather. The story did not add up for me, however, because the "Aunt Lucy" I knew lived an amazing, meaningful life, despite (or maybe due to?) her single status. She taught school for over forty years, which she believed she was born to do. I imagine she brooked no nonsense in her classroom, but I also know she took extra sandwiches in her lunch box for kids who did not have food. When she died at 95 years old, we heard from grown men and women who remembered her fondly and gratefully from their elementary days. Aunt Lucy did not hide the fact that she always hoped I would become a teacher, following in her footsteps as well as carrying on her name, but I had other plans. When I finally recognized my calling to be a teacher in 2000, Aunt Lucy was alive to hear her legacy would be continued. She smugly announced that she was glad I had come to my senses, but I knew she was proud and fulfilled.
In addition to being a legendary educator, Aunt Lucy traveled broadly on her own during her summer vacations. When I visited her in the neat apartment she shared with her sister, Margaret, I would ask to hear the stories about the little tchotchkes arranged on her dresser: a replica of The Little Mermaid from Copenhagen, a shiny kiwi statue from New Zealand, a miniature Swiss cuckoo clock. As a kid, her sharing inspired my curiosity about the people and places beyond my front door, and I knew that I would travel the world one day, just as she did. Aunt Lucy played piano, worked crossword puzzles, visited with church friends, volunteered at the local children's hospital, and walked a mile after dinner every evening, rattling off the names of birds and flowers as she strolled in her sensible shoes. I did not realize it for the longest time, but Aunt Lucy truly was my role model.
Fast forward to the evening of my graduation from high school. Great Aunt Lucy presented me with a gift; it was her Schon ring. I remember being stunned. I'd actually never seen the ring, but it seemed like a potent inheritance. My brothers whispered out of Aunt Lucy's hearing, "Ha, Lucy is going to be an old maid, too!" I am embarrassed to recall that the ring worried me, but I wore it and continued telling the story my grandmother had told me about what it meant. Today, I am disappointed that I allowed a petty story to tarnish the greatness of Aunt Lucy. In my dining room, the chair where I sit faces the antique secretary where Aunt Lucy graded her students' papers for almost half a century, the glass enclosed display filled with momentos of her travels and expired passports. Next to the desk hangs a picture of Aunt Lucy astride a donkey in Egypt, living her best life and loving it. That is the legacy I am so grateful to have inherited; the ring is in a box in a corner of my dresser drawer.
By the way, I am proud to be an "old maid" by my family's definition. Still single, I've traveled the world, pursued awesome adventures, raised a wonderful son on my own, and inspired other people's children as a middle school teacher of twenty-five years.
I boldly forged my own path because Aunt Lucy showed me that was an option.
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