NOTES

I’m not sure how I still have this, but I’m really glad I do. My dad wrote my name on this clothespin and would use it for little things, like clipping it to a napkin at breakfast. He did slightly odd, random things like that all the time. It probably meant nothing at the time, which is part of why it means so much to me now. He’s gone, and I don’t have many physical things left from him, so this tiny piece of wood with my name written in his handwriting is something I cherish.