The Penguin!

There he was, inexplicably buried in the box of a lifetime's memories: a little wood and cardboard penguin, with movable feet yet. It was one of those items that even when you haven't seen or thought of it for years and years, is instantly recogizable. It is as familiar as any memory of your childhood, although it was never really important in any way. I don't know where it came from. We seldom received any new toys, and I don't think this was ever new to us. I expect someone at work may have given it to my father to bring home to the kids. It's kind of a silly looking little thing, a four inch tall cardboard tube, with wooden head and feet. It was meant to walk (yes, really propel itself, no batteries needed) down a slight incline, such as one of my father's wooden cigar box covers. It didn't work very well then; it kept falling over. Not surprisingly, that is still true today, still falling after all these years. I don't know how it ended up among Dorothy's treasured memories. Could we have quibbled over who should get to play with it? We argued over many things back then, in our secret childhood fashion. Did she stash it away when we were little so as to maintain her portion of a shared possession, and it fell, forgotten, into her memory box. Or did she want to take some memory of her childhood when she left home at age 24 as a married woman? That question will never be ansewered, but I must say if it was to preserve her share of the mutual ownership, she won that battle hands down. I have it now, but it's going to be hard for me to hold onto it for the 45 years it was in her home.