It takes a lot of courage to admit you are ordinary.

Bob's trophies didn't make him special. They were junk; he resented feeling guilty when he threw them away. Two whole boxes of trophies and ribbons and plaques from his childhood, left out at the curb.

He didn't bother to sort through them first. A passing thought of keeping one for his desk, semi-ironically, was quickly dismissed.

He sorted through another box and found an array of hobby items. Shin guards and science kits and swim goggles. He couldn't remember loving these activities, let alone these objects, so they joined the other boxes at the curb. 

There were some baseball cards, some might have had some value, but it would be too much work to sort through them all. He took out a marker and wrote FREE on the side of the box.

There were a few notebooks he paged through and he decided to keep one. Some photographs, too.

He answered the phone and said he'd be home in a little while, this would't take much longer. The voice on the other end said a few words which he heard countless times, and, even if they had lost their impact, were still a comfort. They came from that voice. 

It takes a lot of courage to admit you are ordinary.