While cleaning out a kitchen drawer this morning, I happened to come across a peculiar item—one I haven’t seen in many years. How old is this object, I ask myself? Oh, ancient, I decide. Almost 65 years old, in fact.

The object is a ceramic disk, a bit larger than a coaster, which had been painted in muted shades of yellow and gray, and topped with a glossy glaze. The image of a stick-figure girl, smiling as she leads a dog on a leash and surrounded by a balloon and a kite, is discernable in the colors. The image is surrounded by bubbles that were perforated into the disk with the eraser end of a #2 pencil. The reverse had not been glazed, and my name, “TERRY,” was crudely etched in capital letters.

Everything about this object is unpolished. This artistic endeavor will never win any accolades or awards. In fact, it’s a downright ugly little thing. But the masterpiece is mine.

I remember that long-ago day when I crafted this item as a kindergarten art project. The activity was designed by my teacher, Mrs. Somers. Not many artifacts  survived the turmoil and many relocations that gripped the household of my youngest years. This one only survived because it was gifted to my grandmother, who conserved it and returned it to me many years later.

In my mind, I gloss over the memories of the childhood chaos. It amazes me that, despite the turmoil I was experiencing at the time, I could still summon pleasant memories about puppies, balloons, kites, and bubbles. Ahhh, the innocence of youth. And in recalling the sanctuary of my kindergarten classroom, I feel an enveloping sense of serenity. Now, like the girl in the image, I am smiling.

Did Mrs. Somers know, when she designed this art activity, that she was providing a much-needed spot of brightness in my life? That her classroom was a place of safety for me? I doubt it. But I’m sure that, the day she removed our discs from the schoolhouse kiln, she knew that these were the mementos of happy times, and she hoped those artifacts would survive. This one did.

How wonderful and dear are the teachers, who thoughtfully orchestrate the creation of not only the cherished mementos, but also the treasured memories, of our childhood?