This is a photograph of the kid’s playroom. Not exactly, but pretty close. Toys have been buried so long they’re considered collector’s items. I’m going to dig until I find something worth throwing on eBay. Maybe a rare Beanie Baby or limited edition Transformer. The point is my kids will never know. They’re too young to get attached to anything and a new toy conjures about thirty seconds of manic elation before getting lost in the Bermuda Triangle that is our spare room.
I can’t blame my children. When I was a kid I wanted nothing but everything (He-Man, every friggin’ one of ’em). Later in life I realized how much crap I cart around. For example, the six liquor boxes full of CD’s stored in my parent’s basement for over a decade. Do I need a giant library of CD’s? I don’t even own a CD player. All the music I could ever want is online anyway. If something has no utility (either practical or emotional), why am I hoarding it?
The older I get, the more I contemplate a minimalist lifestyle. Not so much abandoning everything I don’t need, but trimming down the things I don’t use. Watching shows like Tiny House Hunters puts me into a mild euphoric trance. I imagine it’s quite liberating having only two burners and baking in a toaster oven. Or using a composting toilet. I don’t even know what that does, but it sounds efficient.
Besides a purge here and there, I won’t fight the accumulation of my kid’s things. Let them have fun while they’re young. They’ll have plenty of time to be uptight about stuff when they’re out of the house. I figure it will be a few years before they start demanding the latest Mary Makeup Face or RoboTron Battle Destroyer 2000. Until then, I’ll continue my clandestine drops at the local Goodwill.
By the way, I hit pay dirt around three feet. A classic Planet of the Apes figure. Gotta be worth at least twenty bucks.