A roughed up, torn up, coming apart tin man sits on my office couch. Its one of two stuffed animals that have stayed with me past childhood and into adulthood. Why the tin man? Why was this particular stuffed animal so important?
Well because that’s the one my father bought me. And that’s the only memory I have of us doing something special together. It was The Wizard of Oz on ice and I can barely remember it.
But I remember the excitement waiting for him to come pick me up. I remember that feeling I had that night. I remember the end where he told me I could pick out any gift I wanted from the show and something drew me to the tin man. Was the show even good? Did I even enjoy it? I don’t remember that.