Why Must We Learn to Let Go?
My father was born just weeks before the stock market crash that led to the Great Depression. His mother worked as a seamstress on the Lower East Side to support him and three girls. In the two-bedroom walk up, there were very few toys.
Maybe, that is why as an adult, he collected things like toy cars, tin soldiers, chess sets, coins, stamps, Swiss Army knives, books, ties, owls, watches, pens, photographs and crystal. Maybe he never learned to let go of things.
I grew up in an apartment with a father who never threw anything away. It made me clutter phobic. Looking at all the piles of things he never used, I realized the more we had, the less special each object became.
Now, I read and sign school notices the day they come home. I throw out art projects almost immediately after they’re completed, and I pass on clothing as soon as it’s too small. I’ve given away my collection of playbills, my wedding dress, letters from old boyfriends and rock albums. I’ve let go and moved on.
When my father got sick with cancer he continued to order more and more things from catalogues – a new coat, an umbrella, a cashmere scarf – even though he hardly left his bed, let alone the apartment, the year before he died. At 79 he had spent too much time working and worrying to live a full life. He was not ready to die.
But we must. We must.
When my son James was three, he inherited my father’s miniature cars. James’ collection suddenly swelled from the two he played with constantly, to more than a hundred. Soon after, he never played with cars again. Now James is six; every holiday and birthday he asks for Lego sets. So far, he has the Eiffel Tower (321 pieces), the White House (560 pieces), Super Heroes Artic Batman vs. Mr Freeze (198 pieces), Super Heroes Batman: the Riddler Chase (304 pieces), The Lego Movie Benny’s Spaceship (940 pieces) and The Creator Family House Playset (756 pieces). This, and the classic Lego Brick Building set should be enough to last a lifetime, but I know the piles will continue to grow.
My son loves collections and he wants to save everything: baby shoes, stuffed animals, superhero costumes, Bey Blades, baby clothing, baby teeth, wooden puzzles and wooden blocks.
“You don’t need that stuff anymore,” I say. “You’re growing up. It’s time to let go.”
For the holidays I want to buy him and my daughter more experiences than things – music lessons, karate classes, and tickets to shows – things to remember, not collect.
Last night we were looking through winter clothing and came across a pink wool hat that no longer fits my 8-year-old daughter. It was the one she always wore to build snowmen, go sledding and make angels in the snow.
“Do you still need this?” I asked.
“I don’t want to grow up,” I imagine she is thinking.
But you must. And that means letting go.
She says, “I want to keep it, to remember.”
But you do. You do.
Kim Brown Reiner is mom to Tessa, 8, and James, 6, an educational consultant and freelance writer. More of her work can be found at www.kimbrownreiner.com.
