It was hard for me to get attached to anything when I was a kid. My mother had a way of getting rid of anything that mattered to me. It either went into the garage sale or the missionary donations at church. It backfired on her one year when she accidentally put my high school gym suit in the missionary donations and had to buy me a new one.
One thing I was really attached to, no surprise, were my books. I loved to read. I had a couple of Bobbsy Twins books. She put them in the garage sale. I did my best to keep anything of importance out of her eyesight. It didn’t work. I had a shoe box of important items under my bed. I had a paper in there I did for homework that got a really good grade on it and thought it would come in handy for another assignment. When the time came for me to use the information in it, the shoe box was gone. So was a poem I wrote that I kept in my dresser drawer. Nothing was sacred to my mother.
The only thing she didn’t know about was my writing. I kept that close at all times and hidden when I wasn’t home.
I know I’m painting a bad picture of my mother, but if it wasn’t important to her, she got rid of it.
Today, the most important things I own are my books. I have six bookcases. I don’t give my books away. I even read them more than once. People think I’m a clutterer because I have so many collections. It’s hard for me to give anything away or downsize, though I have done it.
What were you attached to as a youth? Let me know in the comments below. Thanks for reading. The images belong to me.
valerie writes 
Leave a comment