Every July before the school year began I’d go through my children’s closet and have them try on last year’s clothes.  I’d give away clothes that were too small and make a note of what new ones they needed.  I’d also go through their toys, assessing which ones they played with and which toys they never touched.  My youngest son hated to throw any of his things away.  He and I would go back and forth, never agreeing on what should go and what should stay.  In secret I would laugh about it.  One day I sat down and wrote this poem.  Though it is many years later, I still smile when I read this.  Where in the world did those years go?

KEEPSAKES

All my things are valuable
All my things are storable
Mom thinks it’s laughable
Keepsakes I deem adorable

It’s funny how we go
through all my things so slow
and choose the ones that show
signs that they should go

As soon as she departs
I go back and start
to go through all my things
my keepsakes dear to heart

Two weeks it takes for her
to return and renew her search
and find that I have kept
my keepsakes that she left

In depth I try to explain
conveying all my pain
that is stirred deep inside
when my keepsakes aren’t retained

She says, “It’s a pile of junk”
I say, “Buy me a trunk”
“There’s no room,” she insists
“You must get rid of this!”

So here we go again
sifting through all my things
but with a strategy in mind
I intend to keep all that I will hide.

Dedicated to my son, Aris Joseph
Written November 15, 1995
Revised September 10, 2013
Copyrighted
All rights reserved