Eight years ago, my wife and I bought a plastic Little Tykes ride-in car at a garage sale. It was red with a yellow roof, a thin plastic steering wheel, a door that opened and a gas cap that didn't.
It was clean, lightly used, and priced right: $10. My son loved it. I have a vivid memory of him "driving"around the driveway of our New Jersey home, beep-beeping as he pushed it along at less than 1 mph. He rode it until he couldn't fit in it anymore, and it was retired to the basement.
Flash forward eight years. The same car sat on our driveway Saturday next to boxes of children's books, puzzles and the other oddments of early childhood.
Another couple found it. It was clean, lightly used, and priced right: $10.
As they pushed it away to their car, I watched it go with mixed emotions.
One part of me was delighted that I hadn't shelled out the $50 those things go for new.
Another part was scrambling to catalog all of my memories of my son in the same car before it passed out of sight.
In the end, I've got my $10 back, and a vague sense that there are a lot of memories inside of me that I'll never get back.
1 comment:
Awwwww! This is a sweet post! I know what you mean about the memories. I saved all of Little Man's clothes, in case BeanieVog came out a boy. They are all neatly stored in bins in my office closet. Well, Beanie is a girl and those clothes aren't needed. I plan on giving them away before we move into the house. Deep down, I have a little letting go problem. Those clothes were his, he looked so cute in them. It doesn't matter that he'll never wear them again... I'll just have to close my eyes, hand them over to a boy who needs them, and burn the old memories into my brain.
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