A pair of scissors.
As far back as I can remember, I was always drawn to investigating my mother’s sewing equipment. She would always tell the story of how I took apart a week-old (very expensive) sewing machine to see if I could figure out how it worked when I was five. TL:DR: I took it apart, but did not ever get it back together. I redeemed myself with computer repair later, but my interest in how things worked was present very early on. One of the few things I took from the estate when my mother died was a pair of Fiskar scissors, and they remind me of her creativity, her forgiveness, and her outward frightened reaction every time I wanted to use them to cut something that would surely have damaged the blades.
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