One Reason Why It’s Cool to Live in My Childhood Home

I was just rummaging in the basement as part of the “reclaiming my space” project I mentioned yesterday when I ran across a galvanized tin box, one those things in which you keep recipes and index cards and old photos. I didn’t recognize it, but it was in a deposit of my stuff from around fourth or fifth grade, so it had obviously had some significance to me at some point. From its weight, I could tell there was something inside, so I swung the lid back and found… the weirdest assemblage of random stuff. A small rectangular mirror. A couple of ball bearings. A decorative bolt from the front of my childhood dresser. The slide from my old Cub Scouts neckerchief. A couple of AA batteries, stashed away god-knows how long ago, now rotted out and leaking white acidic powder. A miniature replica coin in a sleeve marked “A little money from Continental Bank.”

And something that made me grin like a damn fool: a ticket stub from — get this — The Dark Crystal.

To be honest, there are times when I feel very awkward about still living in the same house where I grew up. And then there are times when I want to go up to people and say, “hey, when was the last time you found a ticket stub from a movie you saw when you were twelve?”

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