The Teacup

It was more than just a gift from my grandfather. No matter where life has taken me, it has come with me

- By SUE MCCUSKER, Canton, Georgia

A small custom-built cabinet sits just inside the front door of my house.

It has five shelves filled with teacups I've collected over the years. Some are elegant; some are just for fun. Some I've picked up on my own; some I've received as gifts. Most of them have designs that resemble the familiar English rose pattern found in almost any roadside antique store.

There are none I would consider priceless, except for one.

It's a light gray cup with gold embellments, made of bone china so thin, it's translucent. At first glance, it might seem better off discarded. It's chipped, with pieces missing around the rim. It's glued together in places and has obvious cracks. Whatever monetary value it once had has surely been reduced to a few cents.

But I will never part with it because of how I came to own it and what it still means to me more than 30 years afterward.

My grandfather, whom we called Papaw, gave me the teacup when I was nine years old. It was always an occasion when he came to visit us in Nashville from his home in Alabama.

He was a tall and stately man of few words, with a friendly smile hidden beneath his thick mustache. He had a quiet and calming presence about him that I, as a young, timid girl, was drawn to.

On one visit, he presented me with the teacup and its matching saucer. “I thought of you when I saw this,” he said, “so I bought it for you.”

Even then, I could tell this was no ordinary teacup. I held it carefully and studied it. On the outside was an intricate raised design of an Asian-themed dragon. Inside, a woman’s lovely face peered up from the bottom of the cup. She looked like someone out of the nineteenth century, with her hair elegantly upswept, her expression serene.