This large cookie tin of little plastic animals is one of my most treasured possessions and has been since I was a little tow-headed twig of a girl. I used to panic if even one of them was missing, and I always knew when one was missing. I loved my tiny plastic animals.

I remember one hot summer day my family all decided to go out to one of the local tributaries for a picnic. It wasn’t an official park. It just a place we knew about out on a country road that wound along beside a shallow river with sandy beaches, cool and clear water, and spreading old oak trees. “Let’s go out to River Road!” was a common refrain during the long summer days I spent with my grandparents, and one final trip out to our favorite spot, with the whole family in tow, always marked the end of my summer vacation. It was just such a summer-ending picnic I am recalling now.

We’d spent the day eating, playing in the water, lying around in the shade of the oaks, and finally the sun had started to set. It was time to go. Everyone piled into their respective family cars for the drive back into town and a big family dinner at my grandparents’ home. As the first signs of civilization began to appear on the horizon, I suddenly noticed my large cookie tin of tiny plastic animals was not in the car. In fact, I remembered I had been playing with them near the water under a small mesquite tree, and in the excitement of packing up the cars with people and blankets, I had forgotten to retrieve them. I immediately began to cry — loudly — as only a four year old can.

When my mother asked what was wrong, I sputtered that I had left behind my animals and something awful was going to happen to them. My parents discussed what to do in the front seat. “Maybe Pap’O can drive us back out there in the morning,” my mother suggested to my father. “It’s getting so late and dark.” It was getting late and dark — too late and too dark to drive back out a winding country road in a car that might leave us stranded and the rest of our family not knowing where we were. To the adult mind, it would have been prudent to wait until morning when someone could take us back out to get them in a more reliable vehicle, when it was light and safe. All the same, I let out a wail of massive proportions. “They are going to die!”

Whatever the prudent choice may have been, my father — without missing a beat or saying a word — slowed the car, turned on the blinker, made a u-turn, and headed right back out to River Road. When we arrived, he then stumbled around the sandy, shrubby terrain holding my trembling hand as we tried to locate my missing animals in the near pitch blackness of a moonless country night. I don’t know how long we were out there. It seemed like forever to my young and frantic mind. Eventually, I saw a glint of light off the open lid of the old cookie tin, and my father and I knelt down in the sand together to gather all my beloved animals, raking our fingers through the sand to be certain to not miss a single one.

When we got back into the car, with sand in our shoes and twigs in our hair, my father asked “Are you ever going to forget them anywhere again?” “No, Daddy,” I replied. “I’ll never forget them ever again. I’ll always keep them safe.” Then I curled up with that old cookie tin filled with tiny plastic animals and fell asleep to the sounds of my parents murmuring to themselves — worried about the drive back into town, worried about the amount of gas in the tank, worried about the rest of the family worrying about us and not knowing where we were. But for me, the world was a wonderful perfect place without a worry in the world. I had my beloved toy animals, and I had a father who didn’t allow a broken down old car, a low tank of gasoline, or the darkness of the night keep him from wiping away his baby’s tears and making her world right again.

It’s one of my fondest memories, and those toys are still one of my most prized and beloved possessions. I played with them well into middle school. They sat on a shelf in my bedroom through my high school years. When I went away to college, they went with me. I kept my word and never forgot them again. I always kept them safe, and I will continue to do so for the rest of my life. Over the years they became not just the favorite playthings of a small child but also a symbol of a father’s love for his daughter. I will indeed always keep them safe, Daddy.