This post is one of a series called Trivial Tragedies. Each installment is a small story of minor heartbreak that has stuck with me from my childhood.

I don’t recall how old I was at the time, but let’s be generous and assume I was only about 8 years old. Hockey legend Wayne Gretzky was on Prince Edward Island as part of a celebrity charity golf tournament.

I wasn’t a big sports fan, but I understood that Wayne Gretzky was a big deal. My parents took me and a few of my siblings to see if we could spy his greatness from the fringes of the golf course. We skated to where the puck was going and intercepted Gretzky from the side of the road by the Belvedere Golf Course.

We not only saw him — he was graciously and kindly signing autographs. My siblings and I each got a scrap of paper signed by The Great One, Wayne Gretzky.

On the drive home, I noticed that his pen hadn’t been working well. You could read his signature, but it was pretty light on the page. So, I fixed it. I traced over it and darkened it up.

As I was doing this, my family noticed, and it was only from their reaction that I understood that tracing over an autograph effectively destroyed it.

I’m not sure I really cared that I had a Wayne Gretzky autograph. However, knowing that I had casually destroyed something of value was enough to break my tiny heart.