Last night, while cleaning his room and packing, Eldest Son found The Shirt --- a hideously ragged red t-shirt with three holes that he used to wear endlessly back in the day when he didn't care about clothes or hair. (Once he entered the professional world, he almost instantly learned to comb his hair and dress well.)
"Look!" Eldest Son exclaimed joyously. "The shirt! My favorite shirt!" He counted the holes fondly, and recalled how much I detested the shirt. He thought he'd long gotten rid of it and was now greeting it like a long lost friend.
The truly bizarre thing is that I was almost as happy to see the silly thing as he was. "You have to save it," I said, overcome with some sort of unexplainable sentimental urge.
I suppose this is par for the course when our young 'uns begin to venture from the nest.