Today I steeled myself against sentiment and threw out a pair of dirty little work gloves.
When my son was a little guy, he loved to be outside and "help" his Dad stack wood. He observed that his Dad had a pair of work gloves that he used when engaging in this task. So, one day he said to me, "Mom, I need a pair of dirty little work gloves."
I replied, "I can get you a pair of little work gloves, but you will have to get them dirty yourself."
He gave me a puzzled expression, but didn't ask any questions.
I found the smallest child size gloves that I could, but he was only 5 or 6 at the time, and they were a bit too large. No matter...he was very pleased and proud of his work gloves and put them to use many times as he grew into them.
They laid around in his room long after he outgrew them and were, of course, left behind when he went to college. The imminent move to a smaller home is forcing me to make decisions about all sorts of things that have been cluttering up the place for years. Today I finished removing the last of his belongings from his room. Everything is either in storage for him or discarded or in the rummage sale heap.
I paused holding the gloves, knowing I should toss them out, but thinking about the hours of activity with his Dad that put the dirt in those little gloves. It is the dirt that makes them valuable to me. A pair of work gloves as pristine as the day they were purchased would have no meaning.
The work of daily life may get us dirty and leave us ragged, but that is what makes life valuable and meaningful.
