During my first year of school in England, when I was five, I made my father a turtle paperweight. I remember making a ball of clay and squashing it flat, making indentations for the feet, rolling a rope for the head and sticking it on. I don't remember giving it to Dad, but I'm sure he was delighted with it, as all fathers are of presents made for them by their young children.
My memory weight.
The turtle made its way home with us to the States in 1970. At some point the head broke off, but Dad carefully repaired it. He was not a particularly handy man, but he took great care of the things he loved. I found it, still on his desk, when we cleaned his house out last year after he moved into a nursing home. Dad is still here in body, but his mind is slipping away, traveling all over the world to other places and other times.
Now it lives on my desk. In this digital age I don't use it to hold papers down, but to anchor my memories of childhood and a father's love.