lunch sacks

A few weeks after my son, Jesse, started first grade, I discovered tucked away in the back of his closet, a big pile of lunch sacks. Thinking I had neglected to tell him how they work, I started to explain how he was to put all the trash inside and throw everything away when he finished his lunch. He understood all of that, he actually had put all the trash inside each day, but instead of throwing the sack away, he brought each one home to add to his collection, explaining to me, “If I throw them away I will never see them again.” Yes, this is a truth, and for some reason, his little heart couldn’t bear the thought. I don’t remember how we worked things out to everyone’s satisfaction, but lunch sacks in the closet were no longer a problem.

Cigarette butts were. And bottle caps. And gum wrappers. Jesse kept everything. Every piece of trash his hands touched, every broken thing-a-ma-jig his eye spied. I tried to be understanding, and I tried to understand. I tried to change my thinking in a way that I could accept this peculiarity. I decided that it was a very unique thing, for he had the ability to find value in anything and everything. And really, that is a noble virtue; it just needed a little direction and nurturing to blossom into something good. For just maybe, that quality could help him learn to see value in anyone and everyone.

Occasionally over the years I would still find a stash of something odd in his desk. But he moved on to collecting things like paper clips, rubber bands, and eventually boxes of Jell-O (if he found a good sale he would stock up, even though we don’t eat it much). When he went away to college I had quite the challenge unearthing his treasures and packing up his room. He still had the trophy I gave him for his seventh birthday with his name and the inscription: CHAMPION COLLECTOR