I’ve always had a good memory. Unfortunately, not the kind that’s useful for memorizing physics formulas or amino acids structures. Rather, I’m a sentimental person — I attach meaning to little objects that are probably useless to most people.
My phone case, for instance — I’ve had it for nine months and since I’m an accident prone individual, it’s accumulated a number of dents and scratches. To everyone else, it’s just a light-blue leather tech accessory. To me, every ding and imperfection is a memory. The one on the bottom right corner is from when I slipped and fell on ice while walking to down the hill next to the library — an incident that prompted some much-needed laughter. The big mark on the top left is from when I dropped my phone on one of W&M’s many brick pathways on the last day of classes. The one on the back is from when my friends were singing songs from "Dirty Dancing" and knocked my phone out of my hand with their expressive arm motions. The little dent is from a first date. The scratch on the side is from the night with the debate.
As I began to unpack my things from college, I uncovered keepsakes from my childhood — the pictures, the trophies, the ticket stubs — memories. And I couldn’t bring myself to part with any of it.
The bin of trophies and ribbons:
There must be upwards of 30 ribbons from “Labor Day” Swim Races at the local pool. There’s the softball trophy from when I received the award for best catcher, the swim team trophy from when I finally won first place in my division and the soccer trophies from the years when my dad was the coach. Although I have absolutely no use for the plastic figurines and partially torn ribbons, I can’t get rid of them.
The bag of dried flower petals:
I have my corsage from prom, the yellow rose petals that my grandfather gave to me when I found out I got into William & Mary, the daisy from the bouquet my mom gave to me at graduation. They are all saved in a bag. I probably will never use them again. I know I’ll never get around to turning them into some Pinterest-inspired DIY project. But, I can’t throw them away.
The folder of old school papers:
I have my old kindergarten homework notebook, artwork from elementary school, certificates from middle school and an entire collection of AP Calculus worksheets. I probably (definitely) don’t have a use for any of these things. I likely will not frame any of my elementary school artwork nor hang the award for “best music helper” next to my high school diploma. Yet, it sits in my cabinet.
The box of everything else:
The piece of paper signed by Paige from Extreme Makeover: Home Edition, the flip book from the eighth grade ship trip, my prom ticket, birthday cards and thank-you notes, the little stuffed animals that my music teacher gave to me, the original copy of my fifth grade “graduation” speech, the perfect sea shell that I found with my grandmother. It’s all there. Everything that at one point meant something special to me.
I know that eventually I’ll throw all of these things away. I won’t want to clutter the limited storage space in my first home with such items. But for right now, I’ll let them sit under my bed, in my closet and on my bookshelf. I like my childhood room the way it is — it’s comfortable and familiar. Even if I don’t look at the trophies every day or have the flower petals on display, maybe if I hold onto them a little longer, I’ll be more likely to remember all of those the good times I had growing up. Or maybe, it’s just my way of denying that the days of playing kickball, riding bikes and playing soccer have been replaced by internships and real-world responsibilities.
