On my latest cleaning kick, I went beneath the bed in my office for boxes, and well, boxes of paper. Two contained school papers from when my kids, now young adults, were kids.

Going through the papers I marveled at my children’s creativity. Then, I decided they should have them.

So I spent hours sorting the papers into six piles. I discarded anything that was badly damaged, was boring (like a list of spelling words) or had no name. The one exception is the piece of art at the top of this post. Unfortunately, the child did not sign it but it is too good to toss. So I am keeping it unless someone claims it.

Most of the papers were from elementary school, some from middle school, several from before. It appears we didn’t hang onto anything from high school.

Without prejudice, I’d say we have a family of artists and writers.

A watercolor by Ezra

One son, at a very early age, showed the promise of the artist he has become as an adult with unusual perspectives and skill. Another, who is a heavy equipment operator by day and a musician the rest of the time, drew vehicles with attention to detail and dimension. A third son, who is an aspiring comedian, wrote a book in first grade about Jefber the Hero Bunny who starts a comedy show.

Among the three girls, I found thoughtful essays and creative writing. Their teachers thought so, too.

One daughter wrote this beginning for a short story:”I can remember reading in a newspaper how people can be swept away by huge waves. I must have been eight or so, and thinking maybe  problems could be taken out to sea like people.”

Here’s something from another: “One day when the sun was shining, my brother Nate was working at Ernie’s house. Then some people came to the house. They had left something behind. It was a shoebox and on it said, “SHOOT THIS CAT !” When they told me this I was horrified. So they opened the box and saw the cat. So we took it home. We were going to name it Lucky but we decided on Roxann.”

I called one daughter to say she should take up painting after seeing her artwork.

There were several instances I laughed so hard at what a child drew or wrote they brought tears to my eyes. (For instance, I copied one child’s invitation to baseball player Bo Jackson, then in his prime, to attend his birthday party.) I came from my office to show Hank and he laughed too.

By the way, the box had papers my mother held onto for me. It looks like I was a good speller, took dictation well, and had nearly perfect handwriting. But I discarded most for recycling except for that fun folder — Medeiros was my first last name — you see on this post.

I am also holding onto the cards the kids made professing their love for their father and me on special holidays and birthdays.

The school papers are now in large padded envelopes ready to be mailed. I hope our kids enjoy them as much as I did.

OTHER PAPERS: So what did the other boxes contain? Drafts of manuscripts at various stages. After I reached what I felt was a critical stage, I printed the draft and marked it with red pen. (I do have the versions stored on discs and thumb drives, and an email account dedicated to them.) In the end, I decided to keep the first and final drafts of each. Now I’m down to a manageable two boxes and feeling lighter for it.