Perspectives

“This looks like a pile of junk,” she said.

“What…,” I replied, “what do you mean?”

“Yeah, this is all just garbage, It’s

shoelaces and torn notebook paper,

rocks and bits of glass,” she said.

“Those are the shoelaces I wore when

I was on the track team in grammar school and

I came in third place in the big race. The coach

was so proud of me that he took me to get apple

pie after the meet. Those shoelaces are priceless,” I said.

“Well, they’re just ratty shoelaces to me,” she said.

“C’mon, these torn notebook pages, these are

what’s left of the first love note I ever got from

the girl who would become the role model for

every woman I would ever date and love,” I said.

“Just dirty bits of paper to me,” she said.

“These rocks I found in the summer of 1993

along Lake Geneva, when my friends and I

were the closest we ever were, and we skipped

them along the water, and put them in our pockets

to put on our dressers,” I said.

“Yeah, rocks. Great. Just rocks,” she said.

“What about these pieces of colored glass? Surely

you see their value,” I asked.

“Nope, just broken glass,” she said.

“These pieces of glass are from a stain glass window

and they showed me how beautiful the world could be if

you just looked at it a little differently than the

norm,” I said.

“Well, it doesn’t mean anything to me and

since it doesn’t mean anything to me,

it has no value. It’s petty junk,” she said.  

She left in a huff and I looked at

the items so important to me, and

I knew they meant nothing to her,

but there was still no reason for her

to call it petty junk.

I hope no one ever judges her things,

the things she has carefully saved in the

bubble wrap of memory, petty junk or garbage.

That would be too sad for her.