The Duncan Glass: Things Meant to Be Used

Yesterday, my granddaughter set a glass on the counter, and it broke.

She stared at it, wide-eyed.“Oh no,” she said. “I just set it down, and it broke.”

“Thank goodness,” I said.

She looked at me like I’d lost my mind.

My mother had a cabinet full of Duncan glass—delicate, patterned, older than I am. After she died, it sat untouched in a cupboard. Every time I saw it, I thought the same thing: What am I supposed to do with this? None of my kids wanted it. I didn’t want to store it forever. And someday, someone else would have to decide what to do with it.

So I made a decision.

I put the glass on an open shelf and told my grandkids to use it.

My thinking was simple: they would enjoy drinking from the fancy glasses, and eventually, they would break. Then it would be done. No one would have to feel guilty. The glass would have served its purpose.

What I didn’t anticipate was how careful my grandkids would be—or how durable Duncan glass is.

Three years went by before the first glass broke.

When my granddaughter finally broke one, I meant it when I said, “Thank goodness.”

I explained all of this to her.

She paused, then asked very seriously, “Do you want me to just throw the rest of them on the floor and break them?”

“No,” I said. “Nice offer, but it wouldn’t be the same.”

I want them to break naturally.

She still thinks I’m crazy.

But drinking glasses aren’t meant to be preserved. They’re meant to be used.