My winter-long purge of things long buried in boxes in the basement is nearing an end.
Over the past few days, I’ve been combing through stuff. Stuff from elementary school on. Stuff I can’t believe I saved and stuff I’m glad I did save. (And they’re one and the same.)
For instance, this oxidized piece of copper came rolling out of a box. I actually had to stare at it for a half-minute until I realized what it was. A ring. But not just any ring. It was the ring I made in metal shop at Winch Park Junior High.
Now, the memory of me in metal shop is only slightly more hilarious than the memory of me in wood shop.
I wore it until my finger turned green, about a week after I made it.
And I was reunited with my hair pick. My trusty little tool to keep my Afro of the early 70s full and, well, poofy.
I was tempted to run it through my hair one last time. But there is no hair where it once grew wild and free. And I was afraid I’d leave angry red scratches on my scalp, which would be so awkward to explain on television.
I disposed of the hair pick and the ring, and other little mementos of a life still very much in progress, but in need of less stuff.
Still, it was nice to have a few final moments with these things, and I’ll share a few more in the days ahead. Now if you’ll excuse me, I have to sift through my old GHO credentials.