After my grandfather died, my grandmother was ready to get rid of a lot of the “stuff” the family had accumulated in the 65 years they’d lived in the house on Abbott road. Â I would visit my grandmother and she’d tell me to “Pick something and take. Â Find something you like and take it with you. Â It’s all going to go eventually, so take something you want.” Â It made me uncomfortable. I didn’t know what was fair. Â But Grandma really wanted to take something.
I thought about it. Â It didn’t take long to think of the toy. Â It’s a small, clear, plastic cube, a few inches on each side, with a ton of small metal balls inside. Â The inside of the cube has a bunch of interlocking “steps” of clear plastic. Â You flip the cube over, and the balls loudly cascade down the steps. Â
I decided I could take the toy with a clear conscience. Â It was cheap – I wasn’t laying claim to anything huge. Â And if someone else wanted it, it was easy enough to hand off. Â The toy has been sitting on my coffee table since then.
Fast forward to present day: Aunt Mary scanned some old pictures and forwarded them to the family. Â Check out Aunt Ellen’s hair from Christmas of ’72. Â Spectacular, isn’t it? Â It’s like an alien spaceship landed on her head for an extended visit.
 I’m the baby in the picture; I’m almost 9 months old.  Once I got over the spectacle of the beehive, my gaze drifted to the toy that so clearly has my attention back in 1972.  My jaw dropped.
There’s the cube. Â I’m a few months old, and I’m playing with the cube. Â Thirty-five years later, Grandma asked me to pick something, and the one thing I asked for was the cube I’d played with as a baby.
It makes me wonder about brain development and memory. Â It’s just a simple plastic cube, but it’s captured my attention for decades. Â Do I still like it because I have associated good memories somewhere? Â Or am I hardwired to enjoy bouncing ball-bearings?