Some Things Never Change

When I was a tiny girl, our school project required us to glue our picture on a rock and shellac it.

Instant parent gift; my Dad was the lucky recipient.

A few years later, we made a clay “thing” to hang on the wall, sort of like a 70’s wall vase. I remember pressing the clay against my shirt, to imprint the pattern.

So proud I was to give this to my mother. She dutifully hung it on the wall for years. She might have even liked it. 🙂

My parents aren’t big on parting with things. They don’t toss stuff out just because I don’t like it anymore.

Good thing. Because as I grew into a woman, those childhood things have become a testament to the life I lived.

The good things about a happy childhood. Reminders of what I want to remember.

That rock? Still sits on my Dad’s desk

I bet it hasn’t moved location in decades. Just for fun, I made him a new rock as an adult. I found a comparable stone, glued and shellacked the picture firmly in place.

The newer version graces his nightstand. At least when I come to visit.

And I am thankful. Can you relate?

When I go “home” to visit, every single time I visit my Dad’s work and see the rock. I check his nightstand, and I am still there.

I walk the house and look for pieces, the museum of life. Vignettes that say, “Yes, you still belong to us. You might be far away, but we love you just the same.”

That rock has become symbolic of the weighty promise of parental love.

Some things never change. I need that, don’t you?