My sister was telling me this afternoon about her recent efforts to clean the house. When she decided to give away a pair of old sandals, she was surprised by the level of resistance she encountered from my nephew. "Mom," he said, "you can't get rid of your sandals!" He retrieved them from the give-away box, and proceeded to shed tears over the prospect of losing them.
This struck some deeply familiar chord in me from childhood. I immediately thought of all the inanimate objects whose loss similarly grieved me at his age. One might say—but they weren't even his sandals! But I distinctly recall feeling similarly heartbroken for days as a child when my parents decided to replace the carpet in one of our rooms; and it was not even my own.