Memory Street

Most people have an envelope, or a drawer, or a room, where we keep the things of our childhood: drawings, poems, science projects, a few dolls perhaps. We rarely look at them. But when we do, it usually turns into an afternoon of happy memories.

Well, this last weekend, Dan spent some time going through his vast stacks of childhood memorabila. It was his sad but self-appointed time to finally go through and throw most of it away. His time was spent picking up an item, considering it, sometimes turning it upside down (or right side up as it turned out), sighing wistfully, and then chucking it, trying hard not to look back. Indeed, it was something of an exercise in detachment.

But one piece met a standard in his mind that called for more than a few moments of recollection before being quietly discarded. It was something an atari or matchbox car could never touch. As a boy, Dan labored over it with single-minded determination and perserverance. It helped shape him into the man he is today. Dan tearfully photographed it to be remembered forever. And I have found this photograph.