A tough, green, square bag...

I find myself missing my Scout bag and it's original art kit. Tita Leila had given Arwyn, Marvin, and I our own bags after she arrived from Germany. This was in 1991.

I loved my bag. Not because it had better print but because it's mine and mine alone. The fact it belonged to me meant it was the best. My bag, the best looking bag. My shoes, the hardiest shoes ever. My mom, the most beautiful woman in the world.

Funny how a child's mind thinks. I guess I miss the magic of owning something new. The thrill of knowing I owned something that was bought overseas. That unique smell of coming from abroad. I had something no one else had and that made me feel privileged. Snobbish even.

I remember staring at the set of colored markers that came with my Scout bag. There were more than enough colors to satisfy a rainbow. There were also a few rulers and a writing pen included with the bag... All gone now. I haven't got a clue as to where the pencil case ended up.

But I still have the Scout bag... the one with the jungle print and various African animals peeking out. It's old, worn, battered, and more than a little grimy but it suits me just fine. I no longer carry it but it holds CD's now. One of these days, I'm going to bring it to my own place and keep it there. It had served me well, like a few other memorabilias from a period of innocence and ignorance.