The No Boys Teacup Collection
"No girls allowed," the sign read from my treehouse, scrawled in bold letters across the rough wooden planks. I looked down just in time to see my little sister scuff her sneakers in frustration, stomping away with a glare that—truthfully—never quite faded in her adult years. My friends laughed, relishing our secret games.
Not long after she learned the alphabet, my sister wrote her own protest sign: “TEA TIME – NO BOYS.” She’d scribbled it across one of Dad’s yellow legal pads and taped it proudly to her bedroom door whenever my friends came over. Over the years, that sign stayed there—faded and curling at the corners—a quiet reminder of our childhood rivalry.
One afternoon, I peeked through the crack in her door, thinking it was locked. Inside, she was carefully arranging her stuffed animals—Patty the Parrot, Ellen the Elephant, Brian the Lion, and Dr. Wallaby—around a tiny table set for tea. At the center sat a mismatched collection of teacups, one of which had belonged to our mother, glowing softly under the lamplight.
It wasn't just pretend play. She was building something—ritual, memory, tradition—one cup at a time.
Years later, I watched her daughter take up the same teacups, setting them out with the same stuffed guests. Patty, Ellen, Brian, and Dr. Wallaby were all still there, faithful companions in a ceremony that had become something sacred. As my niece poured imaginary tea and giggled with joy, I finally understood: those teacups weren’t just things. They were a legacy—of love, of imagination, and of the small, tender moments we carry forward.
Cheers to the next generation of tea drinkers.
