Joni Blecher

A pad is a strange thing to hold onto from childhood—especially, being the daughter of a printer. Paper was everywhere in our house.

At first, I liked the sketch of the girl squeezing her hair into two side ponytails. Maybe it was a boy. The character is wearing a vest and a tie. It was the ‘80s. Girls were sporting rainbow plaid ties.

I enjoyed decorating the outfit, sometimes drawing flowers on it and other times bathing it in a monochromatic ink pen blue. I noticed the red border next. The idea of a border on a plain old pad of paper was magical, like it was daring me to write a complete story within its confines.

When I saw the stack dwindled to two remaining pads, I grabbed them and buried them deep in a desk drawer. The thought of losing them filled me with dread.

Years later, I found the pads again. I saw past the image and finally noticed the text, “Of all the things I’ve lost… I miss my mind the most.” Instantly, I knew why I kept them. That was my dad’s sense of humor. He made the pad for fun because he could.

I still have the pad. A scant 10 sheets left. I only share it with people who will appreciate the pad’s comedic relief or knew my dad. The pad reminds me to bring a little fun to everything I do...especially, if I’m losing my mind.