Almost Up In Smoke
by Alex McRae

As jewelry goes, it wasn't much. As a status symbol, it was priceless.

For me and a few hundred close friends, the Tuesday after Labor Day marked the beginning of our last year of high school. But we didn't consider ourselves official "seniors" until the class rings were delivered.

We were momentarily excused for the occasion and crowded the lunchroom as the ring salesman lugged in box after box of trinkets. When our names were called, we raced forward, grabbed our goodies, slipped those babies on our fingers, and strutted back to class flashing the hardware that proclaimed us full-fledged rulers of the school we had called home for three years.

We had a choice of styles and stone colors. Mine was like most, crafted from gold semi-precious metal topped with a red "stone" made from the finest quality glass.

It didn't matter that the rings weren't worth half what we paid. All that mattered was having one.

Some guys gave their rings to girlfriends who wore them on their fingers or around their necks. Not me. When I put on that ring, I vowed to wear it forever, even if it turned my finger green.

That vow lasted until my second day of college, when I discovered that high school rings impressed college coeds about as much as my ancient 3-speed bike.

I took it off and stuck it in a box with my other "jewelry," which at the time amounted to a tie clasp and a pair of cuff links. But even though I didn't wear it, I kept up with it. Or I tried.

Two years later, I transferred to another college. When I unpacked, I immediately noticed my ring had gone missing. I was horrified and spent hours rambling through every bag, box and sack of stuff I had, hoping the ring would reappear. It never did.

If it happened today, I'd create a MySpace page and ask the world to join my search. Back then, it wasn't an option. So I swallowed my tears and, as Oprah says, "moved on."

But while my ring is gone, it isn't forgotten. Every few years, it crosses my mind. I'd still like to have it back, not because I'd wear it, but because it's a reminder of good times with good friends.

The point being, even when they're gone, people remember the precious things in their lives. With the possible exception of a North Carolina man who recently had to be reminded of a huge personal loss, not a ring ... a whole leg.

According to the Associated Press, the missing limb was discovered when another man bought a barbecue smoker that had been abandoned at a storage facility.

When the man opened the smoker, he saw what he thought was a piece of driftwood wrapped in paper. The driftwood turned out to be a human leg amputated a few inches above the knee. The owners of the storage facility where the limb had been left contacted the unit's previous owners. The mother of the leg's owner told authorities her son had lost the limb in a plane crash and decided to keep it.

I'm just glad the leg and its owner have been reunited. At least until he needs to store it again.

There is one disturbing footnote to this otherwise joyous tale of tragedy averted. The mother said her son wanted to keep the leg "for religious reasons."

I don't know what religion he belongs to, but I know this. In the future I'll be a lot more cautious about any unfamiliar church group that comes to my door selling barbecue tickets.