After Dad died, my brother and I assumed the task of going through his belongings, making piles in strategic corners of the room: “This pile is yours, this pile is mine, this pile’s for Goodwill.”
One of the items we came across was a small, homemade wooden box secured with a tiny lock. By shaking it, we could tell there were items inside, but there was no key to be found. For months, the box sat unopened at my Mom’s house. Finally, curiosity got the better of me and, with everyone’s permission, I pried the hinges off the back of the box so we could discover its contents.