Letting Go

 

This year I elected to get a jump on the spring cleaning by collecting up the stuff no one uses and then bringing the items to the transfer station. We have a reclamation shed where unwanted things can be dropped off for other townfolk to peruse. It's a great idea that's keeps useable stuff out of the landfill. This spring I concentrated on a set of trucks that have been in the basement for years now. Our youngest, Willy, last played with them when he was very little after I brought in a pile of sand as clean fill. We have a designated sandbox area but it is often overlooked in favor of the nearby swing set. I didn't bother to check with Aidan who is in high school now. He's more engrossed in the college selection process, jazz arrangements and a semiprofessional electronic sports league team he's created. When it came time to ask if I could discard the toys, the question naturally was posed to Willy.

"Can I get rid of those trucks you don't play with and give them to someone who doesn't have any toys?"

 

I usually bait the question like that to ensure I get the answer I want. Willy is often mortified that there are children who haven't toys. We don't shield him from reality with the exception of the fat winter clown, the egg laying rabbit and that crazy broad that collects teeth. Willy gave me the go ahead so I gathered up the toys along with some of my contributions, a retractable clothes line, a hoe with a cracked handle and some electrical wire remnants and then off we went to the dump.

Some of these trucks have travelled with us to warm weather destinations in the Caribbean. One in particular was Aidan's go to beach toy when he was young. He often rode in the bed of his dump truck. I would push him along on the beach as he sat in reverse, enjoying the ride. When he got older and too heavy for the rusty axles, we bought another identical truck which he seldom played with. The new truck became his brother's shortly after his surprise arrival. I sometimes wonder what happened to those boys who happily played with trucks on the beach so many years ago.

Parting with toys can be hard for a child and sometimes for a parent. Once my cousin, Ken, and his wife, Michelle, took their young children to Disney World. On their drive home, their son, Matthew, had discovered that he left his favorite toy, a worn and tattered Pooh Bear at the park hotel. As Michelle relayed the story I was momentarily aghast with the idea that a cynical employee might have discarded the bear due to its rough shape. She wasn't certain if they were even going to retrieve the stuffed bear as no one was quite sure were Matt had left it.

"I told Matt that Poo might go live with another family just in case we couldn't find him,” she recalled.

Now, mind you, this is Disney we're talking about. Those guys have better customer service than the Vatican. Ken found Matt's beloved Pooh Bear in the hotel's lost and found bin. Far from someone subjectively weighing Pooh's condition to determine his fate, Michelle discovered a note pinned to the stuffed bear that read,

"Much loved Pooh Bear."

 

My wife, Christine, lost her stuffed bear in a move when she was six years old. In middle school, she was up in the attic helping her father find something when she opened a box only to find her favorite toy. The bear spent the remainder of its days in a rocking chair in her bedroom. When she went off to college, her parents expanded their room by knocking a wall down in Christine's room. Much of her childhood belongings went on the curb. Ironically, if she hadn't discovered the bear it would likely still be in the attic.

My favorite toy was my Spirit of 76 Tyco train set. I still have it today because I boxed it up as a teenager and put it among the thousands of things my mother hoarded over the years. Remembering where it was, I retrieved it before she selected her "good friend" as the executor of her will over any of her kids. Her friend cleaned out my mother before she was even in the ground. I also have two surviving matchbox cars from my youth that are part of Willy's collection now.

 

When I take things to the dump, I'm fond of making a formal display I usually photograph just in case I forget what happened to something. Christine helped me arrange the toys logically on the shelving. On the way home, she received texts from Aidan concerning our latest contribution to the town's junk swap. Apparently, Aidan who is rarely awake before 10 am, saw the pictures of the trucks at the dump in the cloud, much to his horror. As we drove, I glanced over to Christine.
 

"What?" I asked.

"Aidan wants his red truck back," she lamented.

Stuff doesn't last in our town's reclamation shed. For some reason people just like other's free shit. Often people snatch up the stuff before we get a chance to snap a farewell picture. We had gone grocery shopping. Dropping off stuff hours earlier just about guaranteed that the trucks were long gone by now. I reluctantly agreed to swing by the dump to see if by some luck, Aidan's beat up truck would still be there. We agreed to check the site but not to admit to having done so if the truck was not there. This is what we found.

 

The only thing left were the two red trucks. We snatched them up. On the drive home, I wrestled with the idea of where sentimentality ends and hoarding begins. Christine was less cynical believing that God simply wanted Aidan to have his truck back. It was all less magical for me. I know Aidan can sometimes be nostalgic when he recalls his childhood. Part of me just can't relate because my childhood for the most part sucked. While I wallowed in my own youthful recollections entwined with a concern for my son's future, Christine remained transfixed out the window as we drove home. She had a slight smile on her face as I assumed she was thinking of her stellar job as a mother intermingled with her own childhood memories. Aidan was in the garage as we pulled up.



It's that time of the year when I don't have to drop the garage door right away when we pull in as it is warm enough to leave the door open. Spring is just around the corner. I grabbed the trucks as I exited the car. Aidan smiled as he saw his toy. I looked to Christine then back to Aidan as he gleefully retrieved his cherished belonging.

And for the briefest of moments, I saw that little boy once again.