Story 11:
Every birthday, my dad gives me a weird, cheap gift. A rock, a potato, a spoon with my name scratched in. But every one comes with a story. Like how the rock came from our camping trip. Or the spoon from my first solo meal as a kid.
At 25, I have a box of these odd things. Each one triggers a memory better than any expensive gift could. Dad says, “Big things fade. Stories don’t.” I believe him now. That box is priceless.
Story 12:
