have my father’s watch. It’s a Rolex Oyster Perpetual Datejust, stainless steel with a black dial. I remember the day my father came home with it on his wrist. He was so proud, and I was so happy for him, because I knew the watch was more than just a new timepiece; that Rolex marked his first successful year in business for himself.
When I was a kid, my father was always pointing out to me welldesigned and well-crafted things: cars, motorcycles, architecture, and, of course, watches. When he died suddenly—I was only eighteen —I was given his watch. Or maybe I just took it.
All I knew was that I needed to have that watch. I needed him with me—and that watch kept me connected to him. It still does every time I wear it, every time I look down at it. I now own other, more valuable watches, ones that are more impressive to collectors, but nothing can replace that Datejust. It remains such a powerful representation of my father. I couldn’t bear not having it in my life.