I received my first luxury watch on my sixteenth birthday. It is a men's Bulova, gunmetal, automatic watch. To many, my watch seems ornamental and unnecessary. Considering how commonplace it is to have smartphones or smartwatches, some wonder why such an antiquated piece of technology has stood the test of time. If I had answered this question when was sixteen, I probably would have told you that expensive automatic and manual wind watches are simply luxury items only the rich can afford to wear to distinguish themselves among the crowd. Now that I own a luxury watch of my very own, I can tell you that owning a watch to stand out from other people could not be further from the truth.

Upon receiving my first watch from my stepfather for my birthday, I became confused and somewhat annoyed. Even though I was flattered by the notion of receiving a gift of such high value, deep down I told myself that he knew nothing about me. Whether it was because my mom married him out of necessity or because I saw him as a man posing as my father, I looked into Bob's big green eyes and said, "Although I appreciate the gesture, you obviously do not understand me, and you will never be my father by bribing me with your expensive gifts and trinkets." Despite my stepfather's shattered feelings and my mother’s demand to respect him by accepting his gift, I told both her and Bob without remorse that I would have rather traded the damn watch for something more practical like some cold hard cash.

Determined to trade the watch back, I made my way towards the store my stepfather had bought it from. Still angry about the watch and eager to receive the money, I laid down the watch without any hesitation. Ready to receive the money, as if by some divine joke, the clerk asked, "May I see the receipt, please?" Certain that I had brought it along, I scraped the contents out of the box and looked everywhere for it. Without any luck, I could not find the receipt and returned home. As soon as I reached my room, I violently threw the watch into the depths of my junk drawer, in the hopes that I would never see its sapphire glass face ever again.

Fast forwarding a couple of months, I was over the whole watch debacle and had occasionally worn the watch to occasions that required me to look my finest. One day, I forgot to take it off and wore it to work. Since I worked at a high-end nail salon in Scottsdale, there was always a wealth of rich high-tipping customers. As I was working, an older gentleman came up to me and complimented me for my watch. Since he was a connoisseur of antique objects and he used to repair old watches. tried to start a rapport with me by asking about my watch. With nothing better to do, I indulged this gentleman and explained that I had no knowledge about my watch and that it was a silly gift from my stepfather. After listening to my sob story, the older man took out his pocket watch.

 Like a classic piece of artwork at a museum, the watch looked aged but well-kept. All over the body of the watch were hand detailed and intricate patterns elegantly inscribed into the gears and metal of the watch like purposeful brush strokes on a painting. As if the watch had a life of its own, the gears and the rewind spring breathed with a pleasantly satisfying tick as the pendulum of the watch went to and fro. The jewels inside reflected the sunlight in the polished finish as they stopped and released the escape wheel.

After our close examination of the anatomy of the watch, the gentleman gave me a similar story about his watch. However, what was special about the gentleman's watch was that it was not bought; rather it was crafted and passed down through generations of men in his family. After my conversation, the gentleman tipped me well, paid for his service, and left the salon.

After work, I apologized and thanked my stepfather. Enriched by the gentleman's presence, I finally realized that in a strange way the watch was more than just a tool and a conversation piece; in addition, it was an extension of him. It was his family's history combined into a complicated yet simple construction of moving pieces of finely sculpted metals. After that, I could finally see the appreciation for watches. I learned that mechanical watches are human. They all have unique and different ways of being with complexities not immediately noticeable to the eye.

Like any two given people, no two watches are quite the same. Like a baby, even though my watch does not nearly have the age or craftsmanship as the old man’s watch, I believe it is still symbolic of a promise and an expression of a certain human desire to be live on forever as a member of a community of historical greatness. From that day onwards, my watch was more than just a beautiful heirloom to me. My watch was my soul, my purpose and my promise. My promise to accomplish great things and bring pride to my family name for generations to come.