This is an archived article that was published on sltrib.com in 2016, and information in the article may be outdated. It is provided only for personal research purposes and may not be reprinted.

Back in the day when my dad was a young high-school coach (he coached football, wrestling, JV basketball, golf and tennis), the owner of a local sporting-goods store gave him this piece of advice: When it comes to handing out awards, give your players a plaque, because a plaque lasts forever.

We discovered the truth of this a few weeks ago when we cleaned out my parents' storage unit, which contained (among other things) boxes of plaques. Plaques, plaques, plaques. So many plaques! And, seriously, all those plaques looked as fresh and dewy as the day they were born — or however it is that plaques come into this world.

So yes. The good news is that plaques last forever.

And also yes. The bad news is that plaques last forever. Because what do you do with them years after the fact? Plaques are like trophies that way. You know how it is. Your kid plays on a Little League baseball team. They win a few games. They lose a few games. They lose a few more games. And when the season is over, everybody gets a trophy.

Score!

For a while that trophy gets proudly displayed on a desk or a nightstand. Your kid may even drag people — siblings, grandparents, houseguests, random people off the streets — into his or her room to look at it. But one day that trophy (or collection of trophies) begins to feel less relevant. So then the trophy gets stuffed into closets where teenage brothers have already stuffed all those orange construction cones they stole when they should have been in class at West High School.

Not that I am speaking from personal experience.

So here's my question: What do you do with trophies and plaques when the thrill is gone? If they're generic enough, I suppose, you can drop them off at the DI because that's one thing DI needs more of — your trophies and plaques. The problem arises when there's an actual name engraved on the plaque. Dumping something personalized seems harder somehow — like you're throwing away a piece of yourself.

Still, the problem remains. What do you do with a plaque? I would appreciate your suggestions. In fact, I'll award the best suggestion with a plaque, totally free of charge.

Meanwhile I took one of my dad's plaques for myself. It notes his achievement as an outstanding wrestling coach, which is ironic, because he didn't know the first thing about wrestling when he was hired for that job. He literally learned about the sport on the fly, and when I was little, he practiced wrestling holds on me and my brother. I can remember shrieking and gulping with laughter whenever our dad shouted "half-nelson" and pinned me to the floor.

I'm not sure what we'll do with the rest of his awards, but I've already hung that wrestling plaque on my office wall. It reminds me of when we were all young — my parents, my brothers and I — and of the way my dad was willing to say yes.

Was he afraid of taking on something new?

I don't know. Probably. Wouldn't you be? Because I sure would.

But he stepped up and did it anyway. And that's one memory — and reminder — I want to last forever.

Happy Father's Day, Dad.

Ann Cannon can be reached at acannon@sltrib.com or facebook.com/anncannontrib.