Terry Pratchett, the author of the Discworld fantasy novels, once witnessed the spectacle of an American tourist lugging a huge piece of tartan checkered luggage through the airport. As it seemed to have a life of its own, he was inspired to provide one of the characters with a sentient magical trunk known as “The Luggage“. Across a half dozen novels, the Luggage accompanied it’s protagonist across the world, and heaven and hell. It carried infinite amounts of stuff, occasionally attacked and ate enemies, and fell in love with another piece of luggage.

For my 18th birthday my Aunt Peg took me to the American Tourister shop in the Colonie Center, to buy my going away to college Luggage. She gave me some guidance but left the choice largely up to me, which is how I wound up leaving the store with a three-piece set of space gray nylon bags with bright yellow piping and zippers. From this distance I can now see that my luggage was designed to look like Buck Rogers took them on his honeymoon.

There was a hanging clothes bag, a small medium duffel, and a huge duffel bag that is the closest thing I had to the luggage. Along the sides of the big bag were three huge pouch pockets large enough to pack my clock radio when I went to and from school. The big bag carried an entire dresser’s worth of clothing, and took up half of my trunk of my car all by itself.

It flew halfway around the world with me to New Zealand, and it waited faithfully in a locker at the Auckland Airport for eight weeks while I backpacked the length of the country. It suffered its first wound when the point of my ice axe punched through its hide en route back to America. After that, it’s zipper ripped from being overstuffed in my move to Texas. Its duct taped patch job made it seem more and more like the Giving Tree, until like the clueless young man of the book, I asked it for too much. 

I don’t remember if it was made explicit or not when Peg bought me the luggage, but I knew I was being given tools I was encouraged and expected to use for adventures. Go places, do things! I’ve tried to honor those gifts my family has given, and continues to give me. 

P.S. I  still have the little bag. It’s retired, living in my attic, swaddling the climbing gear I haven’t used in twenty years.