the box

It's always interesting to come across a box of childhood paraphernalia amidst a sad, trying day. Already emotionally threadbare, the memories of why I tucked these treasures away at the time come back vividly. Feeling the reasons why they were meaningful in what now seems like a previous life.

The contents of the box reminded me I had happy moments in my childhood. My teen and pre-teen years were full of fear and anxiety, but before I learned to fear my peers, I had a bubble of time where I was conscious and aware, but still naive. And in my later teen years, I came a bit more into my own. A boyfriend will do that for you...


The box: A unique combination of contents. No rhyme or reason, no connection to each other except their milestones in my life. Meaningless to any other rummager. It's an unexpected sad thought as I go through the box that perhaps there was no one in my life that would want to hear the stories. Like an old woman who has nothing *but* stories and no one with the patience or desire to hear them.

Mmmm, I misrepresent. My parents probably recognize most things in the box with their own associated memories. The Cinderella and Snow White dolls gave many performances. They watched me play countless soccer games. Swim ribbons. Karate belts. Singing awards. They were there for all of it. I certainly did a lot of "stuff". Years of experiences represented by these little tokens.

Of course, there were other items they may not understand. Like the bulldog I used to take to football games that this boy would steal from me. Heavy flirting ensued... Or the bear my best friend gave me shortly before she moved away. Or the tiny picture box from a school trip to Great America. Or the Care Bear key chain (the original Care Bear, thank you very much) that my old neighbors gave me when I visited them in Chicago.


It's finally time to part. Inhale the memories and send the dusty relics on their way. Of course, I don't part with them all. The trophies can go. The belts (hanging on to the last one). The ribbons. My stash of mylar balloons.

So what do I hold on to?

My It's a Small World musical box, because it reminds me of that magical moment of childhood wonder. How I still enjoy letting my childlike qualities out.

The Athlete of the Week award from the local paper. It was for volleyball and I was the first on the team to receive it. Of all those years playing sports, it reminds me of the first time I honestly poured myself into something heart and soul to the end.

My first special stuffed animal, a red elephant. My second special stuffed animal, a bunny. The bunny in particular, reminds me of visits to both grandma's homes. A way to make any bed, my bed.

My diaries. Maybe 5 in all. Not impressive for 25 some-odd years of writing, but I could certainly never part with them. Even the My Melody diary from when I was still printing in block, chunky letters, there is a trace of familiarity of what I was talking about back then. Flashes of memories, though not well formed.

A set of stuffed animals that my mom made for my brother. Zachary found this colorful foursome today and immediately preferred them over everything else in the box. He gathered them in his arms best he could and gave them voices, "meowing" for the cat, "ribbiting" for the frog. It warms my heart that they may now finally be loved. He went to bed with them tonight.

Another music box, of Strawberry Shortcake (the original Strawberry Shortcake, thank you very much) and Angel Food Cake sitting side by side at an upright piano. It is the only present I remember Santa leaving me under my special tree.

A book I wrote as a class project in the 6th grade. Reading it, I can see when I started to say things that didn't match my feelings. I also see how my life was not evolving like a typical pre-teen's. More attached to my pets than friends. Not connected with music or trends that my peers were enjoying (video games being one exception). I don't remember much of what I was thinking when I wrote the book, but it's interesting to read it now. I can recreate the embarrassment and pain I sometimes felt as my peers starting moving away from me. Ok, it's not all happy, but I don't believe in throwing away any books or diaries. There's something sacred about the written word, especially when there was thought or care behind it.

Last but not least, my tooth pillow. Mom made it for me; it matched my bedroom. It has a strawberry on the pocket. It's a special thing to believe in fairies. And, the pillow reminds me of playing with my dolls. Learning to bond and show love. I used that pillow in a rocking bassinet my dad and I made together, to put my dolls to sleep. Also a fond memory.

Many, many glory years. A girl could easily fall into the trap of reliving the past a bit too much. Especially now, with so much of the life I know falling away from me. It is completely transformed from the start of this year. For better or worse, time will tell.

All I can do is follow my heart and not cling to the past, or to security, or to safety, or to contentment.

I want to live.