Marc Sollinger

And I really wanted to.

I still moved around a fair amount when I grew up, and I felt it was important to have something of his that I carried with me.

You know, besides the deep-seated guilt I get when I sleep in on a Saturday morning.

But, thankfully, I had his leather gloves.

His leather gloves were incredible.

Warm, soft, and very my dad.

They were useful, too.

I didn't just put them on a shelf, I wore them.

They were a reminder that my dad was with me, even when he was gone.

They were really important to me.

So, when I donated an old coat of mine to Goodwill, I probably should have double-checked that I hadn't left my dad's leather gloves in the front pocket.

When I realized what I'd done the next day and hurried back to that goodwill, the coat was already gone with the leather gloves inside of it.

Losing them shouldn't have been too bad.

They were only things, after all.

My dad had passed away ten years ago.

But it shook me up.

It made me feel like I'd disappointed him somehow, that he was gone on some deeper level.

Because those gloves weren't just things.

They were part of my dad, a link to him.

Fortunately, I asked my mom for something else of my father's, and she sent me a baseball cap that he always wore.