I just read a post on AITAH from a wife who threw away an old painting her husband had made, saying it was just lying around in the garage and wasn’t useful. Reading the comments, it seems like she doesn’t even get why he was upset when she told him.
Are there things you keep purely for sentimental value — even if they take up space and don’t really serve any purpose?
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My binky, my baby blankie wankie, and my barnie warnie dolly wolly. I’m 35 years old and I still haven’t moved out of mommy’s house. My parents are getting divorced. Not sure which one I’ll wind up with. They still gots custody you see. I’m a big boy now, but they still gots custody.
The blanket my dad brought me home from the hospital in when I was born. My mom was in the psyche ward until I was 3, so it was the only hug I got. My step mother threw it away a dozen times and I had to dumpster dive for it. Women think they can just steal and destroy anything they don’t like.
Or the pocket watch my first girlfriend gave me. Said, “I had a dream that the man who fixes this will be my husband.” I spent 6 months learning pocket watch repair and fixed it. She left and never talked to me again, because she thought it was unfixable, and that’s why she made the challenge.
But I got a pocketwatch and the ability to fix them out of it.
I have a ring and watch. I don’t wear either. The watch hasn’t worked in a long time. They were my fathers that he received from his father. When my dad died I kept them.
I have a small box of bullet casings and a few pocket knives I keep in my desk. Each bullet was a first kill shot for each type of animal I got to hunt as a kid, rabbit, quail, duck, hog, deer, and the knives were all bought on family vacations at a giftshop.
A small picture of my grandfather when he was in his early 20s (I’ve oddly grown closer to it right now, because I’m the same age he was when the pic was taken).
It stays in my wallet no matter what and I see his face every time I open it.
I’ve never met the man, he died before my father married. I have no memories to recall or cherish of him. In fact, it makes more sense for my father to keep the picture.
But it felt right for some reason. I’d like to think his story is a reminder to me of my privilege and the part my fathers have played in getting me to where I am right now, and I am proud to be in his lineage.
All I know is that I respect the hell out of him and I would’ve loved him to death if he were alive.
An old Nokia phone that could survive a nuclear blast. Doesn’t work, doesn’t charge, but I swear just holding it brings back the power of a thousand missed calls and snake high scores.
I am in my 50s and still have my first two stuffed animals from when I was a little kid.
50s
I’ve got old school folders with the names of my favourite bands and cut outs from street mags.
A box full of 80s rugby league footy cards.
A box full of cords and converters for, phones, computers, cameras, all sorts of things.
A drawer full of cassettes I recorded off CDs from the uni library. Heaps of hard to find jazz etc.
Soooo much sheet music and notes from uni, jazz, rock. All probably on line now.
Old animatronic Medusa head I got on clearance. No idea if it still works, I’m worried that the rubber snakes will literally disintegrate if she performs one more cycle.