On the other hand, I, at the tail end of the Baby Boomer generation, am sentimental to the point of ridiculous.
I have kept boxes of old greeting cards from people I haven't seen in years, a pre-teen scrapbook, dolls and toys from my childhood, company newsletters from former places of employment, a closet full of photographs and much, much more.
As if it weren't enough that I've dragged this flotsam and jetsam around with me, I've also inherited some of my parents' treasures. After my dad passed away and my mom went to live in a nursing home, we went through and chose the things of theirs we wanted to keep. After everyone was finished and we were down to the things that were headed to Goodwill, I sighed, took my mom's paint-by-number bird pictures, and put them in the trunk of my car. I also have their yearbooks and even my grandmother's address/date book.
I'm just a girl who can't let go.
Contrast this with my son and his generation. I am not the only parent to lament that their kids don't care much about the toys of their own youth, let alone the items their parents or grandparents cherished in days long gone. The dishes and photos and mementos don't seem to mean all that much. And when we talk about selling our house and moving one of these days, our son does not get teary-eyed as I would have as a young adult.
Oh well.
When it's time for me to move on to whatever my next existence may be, I know most of my treasures will hit a landfill somewhere. Or a Goodwill. And maybe my sadness at that thought is just vanity. We all want to believe we're leaving something behind, but it doesn't matter. We won't be around to know.
And, not having lived in my era, who will understand my fascination with Little Kiddles. Or cardboard puzzles. Or the original Nancy Drew series of books.
In the end, it's all just stuff, right?
Maybe I'll spend an hour or two going through some of those boxes this weekend. Maybe this time I'll throw some of that junk away.
Sure I will...
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