Treasures My Dad is Trying to Give Me

If he tries to give me one more Beanie Baby I’ll scream.

Every time my father comes into town, he brings with him a series of precious treasures he has found from my childhood. Since he moved out of our childhood home and into his new apartment, this happens more frequently—he has less space to store said treasures. He hands them to me as if he cannot fathom how I have existed without them for the past 18 years. Highlights include:

• All thirty-two of my baby teeth, including one with a cavity

• A lava lamp (which I burned myself on several times as a kid—those things get hot)

• Four extra-large hand-painted portraits of me and my twin sister (his suggestion was to hang them in my kids’ rooms, because that’s normal)

• An essay I wrote junior year of high school, which he suggested I publish on this Substack (I am always looking for content)

• The yad I used to read my bat mitzvah Torah portion (For my non-Jewish readers: a yad is a ritual pointer used during Torah readings. It’s usually shaped like a tiny hand. This was my first clue, as a kid, that God has a sense of humor.)

• Sheet music from the one year I took guitar lessons

• The leftover stationery from my high school graduation thank-you notes—which reads “From the desk of Nicole Garelick - University of Wisconsin-Madison”

• The Sex and the City DVD box set

• Every laptop I’ve ever owned, complete with original packaging

• My Buck Hill (local Minneapolis ski bump) 2006–2007 season pass ID

• Several Sacagawea coins (I did immediately put these to good use and bought a coffee, even though my dad would insist, “They will be worth something someday.”)

Naturally, I’ve placed all these essential items on the top shelf of my office closet because I feel too bad throwing them away. Can’t wait to pass them down to my children one day.

I call this section of my closet my treasure box.