A Word from the Editor

Welcome to the Antique Shoppe. Here you will find chains of entangled generations, layers of dust caked on old family photographs and journals, and rust crawling up the legs of various pedestals. For some, it is your first time inside an antique store, but for most of us, this is the place we’ve referred to as home. Here, we were forced to grow up too soon learning how to make lemonade out of rotting lemons. We found ways to occupy ourselves, create fun, and most of all, cope with all of our families’ baggage. We drew happy faces in the dust, but deep in our hearts we knew that the Antique Shoppes we were growing up in weren’t Shoppes at all. They were our grandparents’ basements, our uncles’ storage units, or our mothers’ cedar closets. The generational trauma that had collected over time was now blatantly obvious to us. The magic of innocence, however little we had, was gone.

As someone who grew up fascinated by my grandma and grandpa’s basement, with its collection of old war swords and workout equipment, I often return to that place while writing. But of course, it isn’t all love and admiration anymore; there’s a sense of frustration and sadness that accompanies me back into the Antique Shoppe and all I can really do is write about it. Usually I find myself writing out questions: What are these feelings? Why are they here? The answers are usually so clear buried under the leftover receipts and saved birthday cards. As a writer and recovering human being, my impatience can get to me while searching; I want answers! But when I do give myself the grace of patience, perseverance, and courage, I often find that the answers have to do with understanding the people in my family. The war swords belonged to my great grandpa. And the workout equipment? The women in my family are obsessed with perfection. When I was a kid, my cousins and siblings and I would thumb through all of these treasures, believing there was magic in them. I want that magic back, but not at the expense of my cultivated wisdom.

Many of the pieces in Lunch Ticket Issue 25 grapple with the dichotomy of an unhealthy love, and with the state of the world being what it is right now, I felt like the theme of an antique store filled with worn out family heirlooms was apropos. Homes are supposed to nourish, but sometimes they eat away at us instead. Whatever pain, rage, suffering, and entitlement people have felt in their lifetimes are passed on to the next generation. How do we become better people if these are the cards that were dealt?

A willingness to break the chain, for one. But we alone can never be successful. That’s where community comes in, and that’s why here at Lunch Ticket, we’re discussing the memories of our families’ Antique Shoppes, in whatever form they manifest. In community, we find healing, and with healing, we come into our wealth. My hope is that by sharing these truths with one another, we can grow taller than the stacks of old and familiar things we used to hide behind. By examining the reality of our situations, we can cease lying to ourselves and change the course for future generations. A like-mindedness brings us together, and together we may appreciate the gold as well as the tarnish, and know that they are both ours to take or leave whenever we want.

Ceasefire now!

Jessica Ballen