Thank you for the dino-pencil. You probably don’t even remember it. You sent it to me for my 23rd birthday during a time when you’d already finished school and moved to Phoenix to pursue your first job as a college graduate. I remember you hated the job, the long hours and the low pay. And, like everyone just starting out in life, you were broke. But you were willing to stick with it because you wanted the experience. My memory is fuzzy; it was so long ago. January 1988.
Remember that pencil? I kept it. There are three things I keep that have the most meaning to me. Among them, your pencil – our pencil – is my most treasured possession. I cried all those years ago when I read the note for the first time. I still cry when I read that note. And I’m crying now as I write this letter to you.
Although the tag has become faded with age, I can still read your birthday wish to me:
Dear Bill! Sorry I couldn’t get you more for your 23rd b-day…hope you enjoy the dino pencil — it was something I picked out for ya!
That simple note means so much to me. It says you remember me. It says you love me. It says that even when you don’t have much to give, you give anyway. And it was something you picked out just for me. As you can see, I love it.
You are a fine example of how to live a life. I love you so very much and always will, my wonderful sister.
Your proud and loving little brother,
This letter was inspired by Kami and her post: The Small Things That Get Us Through