Originally broadcast on CHED Radio - September 14th, 1960

I noticed an ad in the paper last night....FOR SALE..... one baby's bed.  Imagine, someone wants to sell a baby's bed.  But this just isn't right somehow.  That little bed holds too many precious memories.  True, it's not much to look at, but oh, the stories it could tell.  The painted rabbits and cherubs that used to fly about the headboard are faded and gone now, but that's easy to explain.  Don't you remember when the little one was so sick and you had to have the steamer on night and day and speaks to the lonely vigil and waited for the crisis to pass?  That, plus small, patient, prying fingers have taken their toll of these once bright decorations.  And look at the guard rail, once so straight and bright and new.  Look at the many little teethmarks there where the paint has been chewed away.  That rail played its part in helping a smallmouth push through a tiny tooth or two.  The spring is a little worse for wear...but then it should be, for didn't baby use it as a trampoline for two years?  Yes...there are so many memories here.  Memories of years of tucking in...of kissing good night...countless middle of night drinks of water...of damp, tussled heads in the heat of summer and cold, pink cheeks and noses when the frost was on the window...of infant smells like Johnson's Baby Powder and Babies Own soap, memories of pink blankets that started out straight but ended up in a small irregular ball in the corner of the crib...of small behinds pushed into the air, with knees pulled up tight and faces buried in downy pillows...of laughter...of tears...of hopes...of prayers...of fears.  No, you can't sell a baby's bed without tearing your heart half out.