One of the most alarming patterns I have noticed since joining the fatherhood fraternity has been the prevalence of repetition. Far too often, we fall back on what we know because it's familiar, yet many never bother to question why. As parents, my wife and I have done all we can to break the cycles our parents saddled us with. Regardless of whether we are discussing abuse, bad habits, or inefficiency, we have no desire to pass down the failings of previous generations to our children.
My father was born before America entered the second world war, and he was raised by Depression Era parents who believed things should never be thrown away unless they were completely beyond repair. While this approach served 1930s America very well, my father took this approach to its logical end, which bordered on clinical hoarding. He could talk himself into keeping something indefinitely, since it might someday serve the ever useful role of providing "spare parts." As a result, my household growing up was full of a lot of stuff — but stuff that was mostly junk, covered in dust, and in need of repairs that often cost more than a replacement.
My father was born before America entered the second world war, and he was raised by Depression Era parents who believed things should never be thrown away unless they were completely beyond repair. While this approach served 1930s America very well, my father took this approach to its logical end, which bordered on clinical hoarding. He could talk himself into keeping something indefinitely, since it might someday serve the ever useful role of providing "spare parts." As a result, my household growing up was full of a lot of stuff — but stuff that was mostly junk, covered in dust, and in need of repairs that often cost more than a replacement.
Consequently, when clutter as a result of outgrown toys and clothes reaches a tipping point, we designate items for donation. We prefer to allow our children to make these choices themselves, though we help them along — and by "we," I mean my wife helps them along, since she has a better idea of the toys they don't play with and the clothes that no longer fit.
During one of these donation days, I overheard my eight-year-old daughter lecturing her six-year-old brother as she was cleaning out her closet and deciding which toys she would like to keep and which toys needed to be purged:
“You don’t understand!" She advised him with a mixture of indignation and exasperation. "There are kids out in the world that are orphans and they don’t have nice toys like I do!”
I suppose not.
During one of these donation days, I overheard my eight-year-old daughter lecturing her six-year-old brother as she was cleaning out her closet and deciding which toys she would like to keep and which toys needed to be purged:
“You don’t understand!" She advised him with a mixture of indignation and exasperation. "There are kids out in the world that are orphans and they don’t have nice toys like I do!”
I suppose not.
A little later (post lecture), I overheard her again, this time talking to the toys in the donate pile with sincere melancholy:
“I’m very sorry to all of you who are being donated.”
Of course you are ... and so are your toys.
“I’m very sorry to all of you who are being donated.”
Of course you are ... and so are your toys.
