Selling My Childhood at a Yard Sale

In July, I finally cleaned out my parents' attic and held a yard sale. Boxes of my childhood toys: action figures, board games, a stuffed bear with one eye, and a huge plastic castle I'd played with every day when I was eight.

I priced everything at a dollar. I felt a little sad.

Then a boy of about seven came up the driveway with his grandfather. He saw the castle and stopped like he'd been hit by lightning. "Grandpa," he whispered. "Look."

He touched the drawbridge. He found the secret trapdoor I used to hide marbles in. He looked at me with huge eyes and asked if it was really for sale. I told him it was free, as long as he promised to play with it every day.

He carried it to the car himself. It was almost as big as he was. His grandfather mouthed "thank you" over his head. I didn't feel sad anymore.