When we moved out of our last house, I unearthed a series of “treasures” that Miles had hidden in his bedroom. His treasures were hidden, no doubt, to prevent his mean parents from throwing away such valuable things as used Band-Aids, beer bottle caps, scraps of paper, broken crayons, cicada husks and elderly glue sticks.
In his six years, my son has never willingly thrown away anything. When he outgrows pants and I say that I am going to pass them down to his little sister, he sadly asks to hug them and then makes me promise he can come visit them. When you ask him to take something to the recycling bin, you have to watch him or else he’ll detour to his room and tuck the empty tissue box under his bed.
Mr. Monkey and I sometimes joke about him becoming a hoarder and we’ve recently given him a small box and told him he has to limit his collection of flotsam to it. So far it has a wristband from our trip to the pool, a tag from a new pair of pajamas, a dry marker and the previously mentioned empty tissue box. I can’t imagine what will eventually end up there.
When I ask him why he likes to save things, he usually simply tells me that he just thinks they are beautiful. And, this, right here is why I’m a bit of a softie on his collections (minus the used Band-Aids). I love that he says the beauty in things that are used and worn. I like the glimpse into his sentimental heart.