I stood there as enchanted as a child, smiling at the music box in front of me.

It was one of those globes you shake, but it didn’t t have the traditional white “snow.” Sparkling “jewels” would shoot through the globe while the music box played “I left my heart in San Francisco.”

I saw it many years ago during a brief vacation in San Francisco with my husband.

I was alone when I saw the music box but I went back to the hotel room and told my husband how much I liked the music box. I thought it would make a perfect souvenir of our trip.

I didn’t come right out as ask for it because I could never ask for anything. He didn’t take the hint so I considered buying it for myself. It wasn’t expensive but I had a secret wish that someone who loved me would know how much I wanted a music box and would buy it for me.

A long time ago a speaker said that women never come right out and say what they want. Instead, they throw veiled hints and then expect their husbands to be mind readers.

I was guilty of that. Still am.

We were leaving for a bus tour of a winery but I took a fast detour to the gift shop and bought the music box for myself.

Every time I looked at it I remember our trip. But I also recalled some darker moments about music boxes.

I had wanted a music box ever since I was a child. Back then, the closest I ever came to having one was the time I borrowed one to save me from the most tyrannical teacher I ever had.

I’ll tell you a bit about Mr. Tyrant, but you’ll have a hard time believing me. Today, teachers like him would be fired — or brought before the school board.

By his actions he taught our sixth grade class that the world was divided into two types: the haves and the have nots.

Instead of seating students in alphabetical order, students were seated according to family wealth. Those from the poorer section of town had to sit in the back. It didn’t matter how much we raised our hands to answer questions. We were ignored.

Kids from the poorer parts of town didn’t even get the same amount of time for lunch. Each day he kept them seated, demanding total silence while kids from better neighborhood went home earlier. He did the same thing after school.

One day he told our sixth grade class we had to bring in “something we collected” and give a speech about that collection.

At the time I didn’t even have a home of my own, much less “a collection.” We lived in an unheated attic in my aunt’s house while my mother saved money to rent our own place.

The teacher said anyone who didn’t bring in a collection would flunk.

“Don’t worry,” said my aunt. “If you’re good I will give you a music box.”

In the meantime she let me borrow one of her music boxes for my talk.

The only problem was I had to lie to give the talk. Normally I could give a speech in Yankee Stadium without getting nervous. But I shook during the talk, worrying the teacher would know I was a fraud.

Someday, I thought, I’ll be rich enough to buy my own music box.

It took decades to buy a music box because I had learned the best treasures are the kind I store in my heart.

Like many people, I enjoy buying things for others more than I enjoy buying for myself.

But I couldn’t resist buying that little music box in San Francisco.

If I could give that sixth grade talk all over again I wouldn’t take in my aunt’s music box.

Now that I’m much older, I know the only things worth collecting are the things we cannot hold in our hands.

What we do, not what we collect, defines us as individuals.

What we are, not who we are, contributes to the goodness of the human race.

I’m sure Mr. Tyrant didn’t understand that back then and he might not understand it today.

He wouldn’t understand that poor in spirit is much worse than poor in pocketbook.

Those like Mr. Tyrant who think we are defined by what we own shortchange themselves.

By being so preoccupied with life’s trinkets they too often chase silver while the gold in life goes by unnoticed.

That doesn’t mean we can’t appreciate what we have.

But as I grow older I feel less and less connected to “things.”

If I were to collect something today I would collect “connections with people.”

Every connection, no matter how brief, can teach us something new.

At this age, I also collect memories.

I might not see someone for many years, but memories we shared will suddenly pop up and warm my heart.

And that’s better than any trinket we collect.

Think about it. What non-material thing gives you pleasure?

And if you want, send along your thoughts, because hearing from readers is something that also gives me pleasure.

Email Pattie Mihalik at newsgirl@comcast.net