The Tokens of Our Youth

When I first moved out of my parent’s house and began living on my own, my family was helpful in getting me started.  Old furniture, hand me down knickknacks.  Kitchenware was amassed.  Everyone’s old stuff became my new stuff.  It was great.

My husband’s family did the same for him and when we married, we combined our batch of mismatched things.  We STILL have a picture on the wall that we laugh at.  It doesn’t really fit either of our “aesthetic” if either of us were to really have one, but it serves a purpose.  It’s a picture on, an otherwise, bare wall.

It was when we bought our HOUSE, our parents really began to unload all the stuff we had stored in their basements or attics for years.

My husband was reunited with his bin of baseball cards.  A huge collection of baseball helmets.  His collection of T-shirts through the years.  The happy 12-year-old came out in my husband when he saw all his stuff again.  And I lamented the lost space.

I was reunited with my own series of collections.  For me, it was mostly individual things.  My discus from track and field in high school, a bowling ball I acquired during a scavenger hunt, pictures, letters, my old books.

My mom also gave me the items she was saving for me through the years.  My old Easter dresses and my old toys.

Two really.  My old Pink Panther doll and my old Bugs Bunny.

I loved the Pink Panther.  I was older when I loved to sit with my doll and watch episode after episode of that crafty cat smoothly walking through life to one catchy beat.

The Bugs Bunny is a scary thing.  Can’t believe I loved it as much as I did.  But I can tell I did with all of it’s wear.  I see the stitching that went into its many repairs.

Over the summer “The Boss” Catelyn, came up with a new plan for her and her employee, Declan.

After hearing me grumble that I was going to go through THEIR toys after they went to school to donate them, Catelyn took a more proactive approach and sorted through the pile with her faithful worker.

With a deep sigh of relief, I saw two big bags go to the garage ready to be donated.  But before I let them go, I went through them.

And with the eyes of a mother, I gasped, and pulled Declan’s old Spiderman costume from the bag.

The costume is so old.  It was originally Bobby’s when he was three.  And then Declan took it, put it on – and NEVER took it off.

For three years Declan lived in costume, primarily as the friendly neighborhood Spiderman.  Even though he outgrew it and new ones were bought for him to transition to, Declan squeezed into this one.  Ripping holes everywhere as nothing was better to him than THIS costume.

I repaired, repaired and repaired the costume again and again.  Until Declan decided it was time.  Time to move on to a bigger costume.

Even though the costume is too small and beyond repair, I have never donated it.  I can’t really – it is so torn up.  But I don’t think I ever could part with it.

When I think of Declan’s childhood, it is in this costume.  Much as my mom’s memory of me at a young age was with my two dolls.

I too have a collection of some of their (and my) favorite things from their childhood.  Maybe I will give it to them when they grow up.  Maybe we’ll just go through the things and laugh at the memories.

We still have a pile of Spiderman costumes that fit.  And when the time comes, they will be donated too.

But this one will be sitting right at the top of the collection for the kids.  The Spiderman costume that started a whole era and defined many years.  I think we will ALL love to remember that.