By M. Haley, Seattle, USA
March 19, 2021
Growing up, I had a cursory knowledge of watches like I’m sure most people do, but my interest in them came later in life when we were going through my father’s things after he passed away.
My dad and I rarely saw eye to eye, and regrettably we drifted apart as the years went on. He lived far away and always seemed to prefer to be alone, never having left the small town where he lived most of his life. He was just that kind of guy – unnerved at the thought of stepping out of his comfort zone that he had settled into in his later years. There wasn’t much in the house. It was a small and modest bungalow about a 20-minute drive outside of town, but in one of the bedroom drawers was his old Hamilton Wilshire.
It didn’t have a strap, but he was a proud man and always took care of his possessions, so it was in great condition considering its age. My mother told me that was the sole watch she remembered him owning and he only wore it on special occasions. No one else wanted it so I kept it. Like him, I put it on during special occasions now and sometimes imagine he is there, embodied in the watch somehow. I think about watches, especially vintage ones in that way – like they hold on to a part of their owners after they are gone.