My Back-Pack Died

It was inevitable.

The back-pack that I'd had for six years finally died yesterday. First, a zipper broke, then a small tear kept getting bigger.

It couldn't be depended upon to transport an i-Pod or cell phone or Chinese food.

I had really put this back-pack to lots of use during these past six years and he had served me very well. Last winter, he carried my hockey skates so that I could get in an hour's skating after work on cold, dark nights.

Whenever I flew, he carried everything I'd need just in case the airline lost my baggage.

He carried countless lunches to work, many of which I'd forgotten to eat for a few days. I'm bad about that.

And now, I had to say good-bye. I felt really sad, sort of like the Tom Hanks character felt about Wilson-the-volleyball in Castaway.

I couldn't just throw him away, willy nilly. So, I wrapped him in a shroud (a plastic bag from Target) and ceremoniously dropped him down the trash chute.

Sigh . . .