A raggedy teddy with only one eye.
A music box, key long lost.
A faded picture. It it of his grandfather? Father? Himself? He couldn't remember anymore.
101 Knock-Knock jokes. A tin soilder. A paper fortune teller. Old bubblegum wrappers. He felt as though he should find some significance in the things he found, but none came.
A faded baseball. A love note. A picture of Elvis. He doesn't know why he felt compelled to pull in the step-ladder from the garage and investigate the old shelf high on his bedroom wall, but he did. Turning over the dusty trinkets between his wizened and liver-spotted hands, he searched for some reason as to why he would have such a strange assortment of things kept up on an out of sight shelf.
"Dad, what are you doing?" He turned, confused, and replied.
"I can't remember."