In praise of Papa's tub

When my first child was born, my mother trotted out an old tub, hidden in the attic for years. It was used by at least two previous generations of Johnsons and for a quarter of a century had waited for the next.

I remember all too vividly the comments by friend when I mentioned I didn't need that cheap plastic bathtub from the baby store, that instead we'd use the old enamel tub.

But what if she falls? I was asked.

Hmm...I thought that was why we watched our kids.

We sadly noted that some of the coating had been scraped over time and it was beginning to rust. This would be the last generation - and child - to use it. Still, the tub managed to make the move with us to our new home.

Last night, though, I noticed the tub in my daughter's closet and got it out, thinking I at least could get a photo of the baby in it, just like his sister, mother and grandfather before him. I set it down on the floor, and sat the baby, fully clothed inside. He was almost too long.

My daughter asked what he was doing. I said,without thinking, that he was playing boat. Before I knew it, they were "toot-tooting" all around her room, the normally serious baby banging his hands against the sides and laughing.

Yes, I could have bought that plastic tub, which would have been tossed aside or shared in mere months. And I'll admit I actually considered buying one this time around. But then I would have missed a moment.