The last few days I’ve been visiting my parents and sleeping in my childhood bedroom. It sits largely unchanged from my youth, with only a few things of my younger brothers added to the memorabilia collection.

Puzzles and board games sit testing in their place.

Settled with books about cowboys, knights and outer space.

Old stuffed bear sits tattered and torn.

A baseball glove beside him all weathered and worn.

Trophies and medals displayed here and there.

A few old jerseys hung neatly with care.

Candy bars and cherry bombs still hidden under the bed.

An old toy fire truck, now and faded shade of red.

The toy chest sits dusty, full of toys and blocks.

A box in the closet holds a peculiar set of rocks.

There in the corner, a wooden bat and hockey stick lean.

All these things reminders of the fun they have seen.

Trinkets and toys of a boy now long gone.

Memories of a time when he could just play on.

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