After the first time my mother shortened my pony’s mane, she took one of the clumps off the cold, dirty washrack floor, washed it off, tied a ribbon around it and gave it to me too keep. I did and continued the tradition long after it seemed I would grow out of it.

Inevitably, I stumble upon these clumps of hair now and again, tied in ribbons that are now faded and crumpled. But they are the only tangible part of the beings that brought so much magic into my life.

Interesting thread here, Lavonne.

I would sneak in during the night, and relieve the space under their pillow of those little teeth that lay in wait for tooth fairy treasure and then find that I could not bear to toss it in the trash. Four kids later, the stash is pretty significant. My daughter was repelled when she learned that I kept them.

Something that still bothers me – - – When my daughter was six or seven, she had her more than waist length hair cut. I still cringe at the memory of it being swept up and thrown away at the salon. I wish that I had the hairdresser braid it and cut it off for me to keep. Why? I still am not sure, other than this was my daughter’s beautiful hair that I had so lovingly cared for throughout her life and it was being discarded like spoiled leftovers into the trash.

I came across a discolored tiny fingernail in my oldest son’s baby book recently. He hit it with a hammer when he was a young boy, and for some reason, I felt the need to save it when it fell off. Of course, this is the same child whose earliest years seem to be detailed in full, cross-referenced, categorized and recorded in far too many ways, the result of a mother with too much energy and time on her hands.

Where’s your story rick? Or were these wedges the property of your aunt? I don’t see an author name on the post.