When I was about ten, I possessed a poker chip. I didn't own it; I possessed it. I was the steward of the poker chip.
It looked like any other poker chip, but I knew better. I knew it was a royal poker chip. It was called Queen Anne.
On one side of Queen Anne was a jockey atop a racing steed. This was significant. It displayed determination of purpose, something that seemed desirable, if somewhat unobtainable for a twelve-year-old.
I kept my Queen Anne poker chip in a special box. The special purpose of the box was to hold the chip. It did so admirably.
At times, I thought it might be somewhat odd, this thing I had with a poker chip. Would a normal child revere such an object? Would another kid call it Queen Anne? Seemed rather unlikely. But it wasn't like I gave it super powers or anything. I didn't bow down before it. I just gave it reverential respect. I thought it deserved it. Something deserved it. My father didn't deserve it. But that's a different story.
Or is it?
Anyway, I don't know what ever happened to Queen Anne. I guess I was a lousy steward. I outgrew my reverence and she became a simple poker chip again. But by then, she was cut off from her tribe, and a single poker chip is a sad and lonely thing. I imagine her in some landfill, re-arranging her molecules into something resembling nature.
Farewell, Queen Anne. You were special once.