some stuff must stay

I call Alexander.

"I'm cleaning house and getting rid of things. What about the big framed photo hanging in your room?'

"You mean the one of me sucking my finger?  Sure, get rid of that." 

It was taken at my son's nursery school graduation, and for years, dominated his small room.

"Okay, what about your framed diploma from MNS?" (As in Manhattan New School, Alexander's school from Kindergarten through Fifth).

"No, keep that." (I of course wouldn't get rid of it; that was just a test to see if he was paying attention.).

"Okay, but I'm giving away your bulletin board. The one I had made that you never used."

"Fine."

"Oh, do you want my Brita Water Jug?"  I bought this a couple of years ago and used it for a week.

"Sure, I'll take that."  

"Oh, and I'm throwing out the stuffed dog that looks dead."

"You mean the one I've had since the day I was born?  You can't get rid of him! He's been with me my whole life and has never given me a single day of grief."

I thought he was joking, but no, he wants to hold on to this now-sad-looking puppy.

If I hadn't asked, he'd never have noticed. But now that I've asked, the little doggie stays. 

Reminds me of the little boy who still lives inside my son.