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What object from your personal or family history has special meaning, either as a memento of the past or a reflection of your identity?

The question - stemming from a National Public Radio story I recently read - caught my attention. Initially, NPR personnel interviewed eight refugees. Then, the question was posed to the larger NPR audience.

In both instances, responses to the question identify the memories and stories we carry with us. They shape a significant moment in time, a precious piece of our life’s stories.

One woman told the story of her grandfather, who arrived from Bohemia at Ellis Island, at age 14, and changed his last name. He brought a cut crystal decanter, with a chip in the lip. The glass container moved to the woman’s mother’s house, stored away for years, until a fire led to cleanup of items and she inherited it from her mother. Since then, the decanter has taken residence on a 40-foot catamaran, sailing around the world with the woman and her husband.

She said, “I think of the bravery it took for his parents to see the writing on the wall and decide to leave behind their thriving mill business because they could see WWI coming and had no desire for their sons to be pressed into the Kaiser’s army.”

A woman, who left Paris with her family, in 1938, on the last train before the French government surrendered, keeps the patent leather shoes she wore as a two-year-old. If those shoes could talk, they would spin stories about walking to Bordeaux, a father’s quest to find passage to Portugal, where his family would board a freighter for New York.

To this now 84-year-old woman, the shoes represent courage and resiliency, both traits refugees rely on.

Another woman shared the story of her grandmother, age 25 at the time, who came to the United States from Norway in 1906. She made her way to Salt Lake City, fell in love, married and had nine children.

The woman said her grandmother brought her ability to love and cook with her. She talked about eating red cabbage, cooked with caraway seeds and vinegar, during family meals, associating the food her grandmother made with love.

Back to the original question. I have pieces of furniture that belonged to my great-grandparents, a grandfather clock constructed by Grandpa Fields. Glassware from Grandma Larson and Grandma Fields. A 1916 electric enamel stove. Handwritten recipe cards, pieces of jewelry, knitted afghans, a World War I window banner, Husker football ticket stubs from the “Glory Days.”

I can assign special meaning to all the aforementioned items because I have stories I can associate with each piece. Are they a reflection of my identity?

If I had to leave all possessions behind and choose one of the items to take with me, what would I choose? Could I choose?

Sometimes, I think the pieces that most define my identity aren’t tangible products, but innate traits - Grandma Larson’s German stubbornness; Grandpa Larson’s quietness; Grandma Field’s listening abilities and attention to detail; Grandpa Field’s outspokenness; mad cooking skills from both grandmothers.

I’m a combination of all of the above, tangible and intangible. These pieces of me encompass the past, reflect who I am now and will label me in the future.