This summer turned into an unexpected adventure of nostalgia when both of my divorced parents decided to downsize at the same time. It’s wild, right? I realized I had been secretly collecting bits and pieces of my childhood in their homes, and when they asked me to sort through my old things, I was taken aback by my feelings about it all…
Facing the Reality of Memories
I found myself in a tug-of-war with my emotions. On one hand, the thought of parting with my stuff felt like a betrayal to my childhood. Closing the ‘Museum of Me’ was just not an option! But as I trudged through those dusty boxes, I felt an overwhelming urge to let go. I complained a lot, barely mustering any gratitude for the parents who had been my unintentional storage units for years. You ever feel like that? Like you’re torn between wanting to keep everything and just moving on? 😅
Among the clutter, though, there were some real treasures. I stumbled upon a hinged box I had crafted when I was just five years old, lined with purple velvet. Can we pause for a second? I still feel proud of that little masterpiece! 🎨
And then there was my wooden doll with arms that actually moved—she was pretty cute in a quirky way. I asked my dad if he wanted her back, but he just smiled and didn’t say yes. Can you imagine? That’s a plot twist I didn’t see coming! 😂
The Struggle of Letting Go
As I continued my excavation, I found my early artwork, which was hilariously oversized. My mom had kept a 3×5 foot framed painting of Demeter and Persephone from my Greek mythology phase, while my dad had my self-portrait that boasted eyebrows… under my eyes. The creativity was definitely there, but let’s just say the execution could use a little work! 😂
Does anyone else have those cringe-worthy childhood art pieces? I mean, I really wish my parents had kept that turtleneck from my school photo that said, “big enough” around the torso. Who else thinks that’s a classic? 😆
Even though I had previously sifted through my collection of ‘please don’t throw this away’ items, this latest round was exhausting. I tossed those school yearbooks but clung to my beloved picture books from childhood. Somewhere in my chaotic collection is my ticket to see the Spice Girls at Madison Square Garden in ’98 and a diary I disguised as a school notebook (I even misspelled ‘English’ on the cover—whoops!). 😬
Bittersweet Goodbyes
When I finally headed back to Brooklyn, I realized I had brought two tiny wooden chairs home with me. After weeks of moving them around my apartment like they were pieces of furniture from a fancy gallery, I had to face reality. There just wasn’t enough space. With a heavy heart, I put them out on the street. I felt a pang of sadness, like I was discarding a piece of my childhood. 😢
Later that day, I saw the chairs still sitting there, and I almost grabbed them back. But somehow, I managed to resist the temptation. By the next morning, they were gone, and I like to think they’re now making some Brooklyn kid very happy. Isn’t it funny how we get attached to objects that hold memories? 💔
In the end, I kept the velvet-lined box (of course! 💖) and a quirky paper maché vase from my art class. I declined to take home my gigantic self-portrait, but I still cherish the laughs my brothers had at my expense over the years. And that wooden doll? She’s still snoozing in her custom-painted bed at my dad’s house. I’m still trying to convince him she’s a hidden gem! 😄
Now, I want to hear from you! If you’ve ever gone through your childhood bedroom, what did you discover? Were there things that were surprisingly hard to part with? Let’s chat about it!
P.S. Where did you grow up, and how does that shape your memories? I’m curious to know! 💬
