This reblog may bring tears to your eyes and raise more questions than answers, but you will be moved by it’s message! https://thewarriorandwomaninme.wordpress.com/2015/10/05/value-of-a-tin-can/comment-page-1/#comment-5
She had been ‘defiant’ once again and knew her time in the darkness of the crawl space under the yellow box was near. She quickly grabbed the rusty ole canister off her closet shelf, kneeled down and pried open the steel latch. She threw the Bake-Rite can into the darkness and heard the mamba sound of its contents as it fell to the earth below.
She was feeling increasingly tired of his advances and wanted something to keep her company while being punished. She was seven.
Herein lies her first lesson in the value of things.
Her grandmother was an expert in sewing and couldn’t bear to throw anything away. This was her tin canister and its contents were now the little girl’s only companion. These precious pieces of metal, and plastic came in all sizes, textures, shapes and colors. Some were shiny and felt smooth to the touch, some…
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