A Symbol of Love

It’s small and silver with small grooves ingrained along its sides. Even though it’s not a necessary part of my wardrobe, I hate when I forget to put it on. I twist it round and round when I am bored during a class or am waiting for a friend. In the summer a small ring of white glows against my sun-darkened skin when I take it off. It has four square turquoise stones and an oval violet stone in the middle. My most treasured article I wear is my ring from my parents.

My ring is more important than a piece of jewelry; it is a constant reminder of my parent’s love. When I turned sixteen my parents gave me my ring for my birthday. Even though I knew it was coming, as my parents bought my sister her ring when she turned sixteen, I gasped with joy when I pulled it from its small gray box. They bought it during their trip to Alaska, and it is so special in that they chose it especially for me. They knew the colors I loved and the style that fit my personality. I lost it in the locker room after a volleyball game once and spent the ride home on the bus crying. Some people didn’t understand; it’s just an object, nothing really important they said. But for me my ring isn’t just a chunk of metal that can be pawned for some quick cash, it is an everyday reminder of my parents love and the hopes they have for me.