My dad has been telling me for a couple of years that his basement is overrun with "you guys' crap." When he says this, he points at me specifically and says, "and like half of it is yours." This, to me, seemed improbable. But still, it was exciting to think that I might have all kinds of forgotten treasures under there.
Since most of us were going to be up here at once, Mom went out and bought loads of plastic bins (containers for you Brits) and trashbags. She put us under strict orders to get under there, go through our stuff, and put what we want to save in the labeled bins. She encouraged us to put as much as possible in the trashbags.
So last night I went under there and Mom and I looked through almost Every Single Box in search of my stuff. As we went, we started sections for all the other kids. Every time I opened something containing cheerleading paraphernalia I knew it was Jenny or Megan's, because in high school I chose to be cool and join the marching band. Our costumes were modeled on the Civil War uniforms of the Union troops. So watch Glory and imagine that it's me instead of Denzel Washington inside that uniform. Also imagine that it's like 10 times uglier.
We got to the very last boxes and were covered in dust, mold, and who knows what else before I realized that I only had three boxes of stuff in the entire garage. My brothers and sisters had between 5 and 10 boxes. I'm betting they burned all my stuff for fuel some winter. Here are some of the treasures I did find.
- Old journals from when I was 10, which I am terrified to read because I'm pretty sure they will all be about boys I had crushes on and such romantic milestones as the day my crush put his lips on the mouthpiece of my flute during band. I was pretty sure this was almost the same as or at least a precursor to making out.
- Letters from junior-high friends with whom I wish I'd stayed in better touch. Must try Googling some of them.
- My wooden jewelry box, containing much evidence of why I didn't date much during high school
- Old scrapbooks and pictures--more evidence
- A love letter written by an anonymous boy in 1996. So hah. Someone in 1996 loved me. I really wish I could remember who it was from.
- My two dried (and flattened) corsages from junior and senior prom
- My high-school graduation robe, which my mother wouldn't let me throw away
- A bag of trading pins from the 1997 National History Day competition, which my mother wouldn't let me throw away
I dunno why she took me down there if she wasn't going to let me get rid of anything. Maybe my three little boxes seemed to her a silent rebuke and now she's regretting all the burning.
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