A backpack is such an insignificant, utilitarian item that it hardly warrants a second thought. If you have school-aged children you know when you buy one you’re lucky to get a full year’s use out of it before some mysterious as-yet-unnamed phase of matter appears at the bottom of it, spoiling the backpack and its contents. It’s hardly the type of item for which one might form an emotional attachment. But I have a backpack I have had and used for more than 20 years and it has followed me on many adventures.
Sometime during high school, my locker was broken into. It was a bad day. Fortunately, I kept my TI-82 graphing calculator with me at all times and I never had money in my locker so all I lost was a brand new super pack of gum and my very 90s drawstring backpack with plaid flaps that folded over the top and pockets… apparently so uncool the thief didn’t even want it and disposed of it unceremoniously in a hallway trashcan. The backpack may have been salvageable, but after its stay in the trashcan with who-knows-what, it was time for a new backpack. Mom was looking ahead to college and decided we would invest in a decent backpack, so that night we went to the Eddie Bauer store at the mall and bought one.
The Green Backpack is nothing fancy. It’s a hunter green canvas with a black bottom of some heavier canvas, it has a large main area with a double zipper that meets in the middle, a smaller outside zipper pocket for pencils and things, and an even smaller Velcro pocket for things you don’t mind getting wet if you go outside. It has padded shoulder straps and a padded back so the corner of your ten-pound history book doesn’t stab you in the back as you walk home from school. It wasn’t as girly as I might have hoped, but it did the job.
I finished high school with The Green Backpack. It collected a lot of intricately folded notes about boys and dances and Friday night plans and future dreams… there may also have been notes about literary genres, historical figures, science, and math. It held music and my piccolo. It held a lot of gum and mints. It bounced on my back on the way home on good days and sat, like an elephant, on my back on bad days. It was thrown into my lockers, thrown on buses, thrown in the backs of cars, and thrown on the floor of the kitchen. It experienced the highs and lows of a teenaged girl trying to navigate the final years of high school.. and childhood.
I made it through high school, and so did The Green Backpack. The college years were friendlier to both of us. A calmer mind made for calmer times and ambition to succeed as an adult made for gentler use of the tools to build that success. The Green Backpack collected a pink ribbon for breast cancer awareness and many pamphlets handed to me in common areas of the university I was too polite to refuse but too set in my own ways to read. It hoarded any quarters that came my way. Its well-worn canvas served as a comfortable pillow in grassy areas on sunny spring days. Twice during college, it traveled to Europe with me. It saw the Eiffel Tower, The Alps, and Monaco, and it saw London, Bath, and Cardiff. It earned a lock during its international travels, one that still resides on its zipper because I’ve subsequently forgotten the combination. It carried foreign money and a passport in place of packs of gum and notes. It traveled on planes, trains, buses, and boats. The fabric had to stretch just a little to accommodate my expanding world.
After college, it was time to buy a grown-up bag for work. But field trips came and it became a handy bag in which to take the required forms, a first aid kit, and a lunch. It had hay in it from a trip to a farm and discarded ticket stubs and wrist bands from trips to theaters. The Green Backpack spent more time in the closet than out.
I became a mom. Of course, I got the diaper bag that coordinated with my nursery. But The Green Backpack made its way out for family trips when more than just the diaper bag would be needed. It went to amusement parks and tourist attractions and the beach. It got to go to Disneyland to carry the map, wipes, bottles of water, and sunscreen.
I’ve had The Green Backpack for more than 20 years now. The zipper doesn’t work as well as it used to… but neither do my knees. It’s not as firm as it once was… but neither are my abs. The fabric has expanded a little… but so have I (well, a lot). It doesn’t go out as much as it used to… but neither do I. And it doesn’t carry the same things it used to… but neither does my heart. The Green Backpack has grown with me and I’ll still keep it around for its utility, but I’d also like to see it continue its journey with me. A backpack is such an insignificant, utilitarian item that it hardly warrants a second thought… but sometimes when you give it a second thought, you might find some treasures in it.
