By Carla Mundwiler
This afternoon I accidentally grabbed my great-grandfather’s pocketknife from a bowl of tchotchkes that we keep in the kitchen. I was reaching for my engagement ring and this is the spot I use every time I do the dishes or workout to youtube videos.
The knife is small, nothing special. It certainly wouldn’t have been anything to brag about when he bought it. The handle is yellowing bone and the blades inside are rusty and dull. They no longer fold neatly into the frame. I held it for a little while and I contemplated its journey, from somewhere Indiana on a little farm, into the palm of my hand. I thought about where he might have imagined it ending up and I smiled because he never would have seen me coming. I’m the last in my line, the last Mundwiler, the last Unicorn in my family. I have tried, in my way, to keep the name alive. I gave it to my son, but it is only one of three family names that he bears the brunt of, and it will likely fall away if he ever chooses to have a family of his own.
Of the three original Mundwiler children, two were women: one a lesbian and the other a religious fanatic who would never have imposed her own legacy over the legacy of her husband. Besides, women are awful at the legacy business. Continue Reading…