Childhood keepsakes

I sorted through a box of my childhood keepsakes yesterday, combing through My Little Pony dolls, puka shells and notes passed from friends during geometry class. I started chucking everything that didn’t immediately conjure up some memory of my youth.

But every time something landed in the “Give Away” pile, my mother would yelp and say, “Oh, no! How can you get rid of this? Don’t you remember this? Oh, you used to love this!” This reaction was particularly heart wrenching when I tried to throw out a pillow I had apparently made at summer camp that was ripped at the seams and half-full of stuffing.

The problem was I didn’t remember making that pillow. Nor did I remember that seashell that my mother said was from my first time at the beach or the bunny doll that graced my bed for years.

But my mom did. She remembered them vividly, and it pained her to see me so callous about those memories.

Memories are funny things, and we can’t force them on anyone else. One day, I’m sure I’ll tell my 15-month-old daughter, Nicole, all about her favorite puppy doll that she can’t sleep without or the first drawing she did on her own.

And she won’t remember it.

How strange that she won’t remember these first years of her life that are so precious to me and so vivid in my mind. She won’t remember the weekly trips to Winder Dairy for ice cream or the hours we’ve spent in the garden this summer picking strawberries

I guess the best I can hope for is that when she’s a grown woman and going through her pile of “junk,” that she’ll remember being loved intensely, even if she can’t pinpoint the exact activities or times.

And that will be better than any keepsake.

What do you hope your children remember about their childhood?