As a proud Baby Boomer, I must confess: I am a packrat. My garage is filled with items I have kept or collected through the years, all of which hold some form of sentimental value to me alone. These are things from my childhood and when my parents were in high school in 1941-1944.
When I look at my parent's old high school yearbooks or my dad's varsity jacket, I feel a powerful connection to them. It's like opening a window to the past and experiencing a warm, nostalgic breeze. However, if I stop and think about it, I realize that my parents' memories are within my soul, my being—not stored in material objects.
This inclination to hold onto things for the memories they evoke is a generational trait shared by many Baby Boomers and Gen Xers. Personal history and cherished moments are often entwined with physical items—objects you can touch, hold, and feel. Whether it's your first pair of roller skates or the baton from your twirling days, these items act as vessels of memory, triggering emotions and recollections every time we look at them.
Take, for example, one of the most significant items from my childhood: a game ball from a Little League baseball game in which I pitched to win the league championship. It was early June 1970, and the minor league Orioles of the Linthicum Ferndale Youth Athletic Association faced off against the rival Mets for the championship. The Mets' manager was one of our closest neighbors, and his son was my best friend—a healthy rivalry intensified by friendship.
Our team's regular pitchers had reached their maximum innings for the week, so our coach turned to the third-string pitcher: me. I was third string for a reason. I threw hard—scary hard—but I rarely knew where the ball would end up. While I hoped it would land in the catcher's mitt, more often than not, it struck the batter or bypassed the catcher entirely, hitting the umpire. On that decisive day, however, I found my magic. I shut down the feared Mets, and we walked away with the league championship, which marked one of my proudest moments in baseball.
My dad took the game ball my coach handed me after the game and painstakingly worked to memorialize this piece of history. He carefully counted the stitches to ensure the details would be centered and then neatly wrote on the ball with a black ballpoint pen the words, "1970 Minor League Champs." He then covered the ball in shellac to preserve it. That memento sat on my shelf from when I was ten years old until I was in my late 50s, moving with me several times but always finding a place of honor in my Mancave—until Chester arrived.
During a transitional phase in my son's life, he and his family stayed with us for a few days before moving into their new home. Along with them came Chester and Baxter, their Boston Terriers. I happily turned over the Mancave to our guests, pleased that I could help my son during this transition.
Well, easy come, easy go. Chester found my nearly 50-year-old baseball and made quick work of it. The only thing left was a 50-year-old ball of string. My son was devastated. He knew how much that ball meant to me and was sure I would lose my cool. Surprisingly, it didn't affect me as much as we both expected because I was beginning to realize that those memories were not embedded in that sphere of leather and string. The memories stayed with me despite the ball being completely ruined.
Still, for a brief moment, I considered salvaging it. However, Chester passed the indigestible leather the next day, and it was unrecognizable. Of course, I threw it in the garbage—no heroic efforts for memorialized pieces of dog chow.
This unique incident brought home a significant realization: memories don't reside in things. They live within us. Yet, I've noticed a generational divide in how we perceive memories and the items connected to them. Baby Boomers and Gen Xers tend to hold onto things, seeing them as cherished connections to the past. At the same time, Gen Y and Z are more likely to discard such items, perhaps influenced by growing up in a digital age where everything can be captured, saved, and even shared through a screen.
Digital photographs will last longer than the paper of yearbooks or the fabric of old jackets. These modern generations understand that a quick snapshot can preserve the essence of an item, even if the tangible object is long gone. And they're right, to some extent. Digital memories are convenient and accessible. However, I can't help but wonder if they miss out on the physical connection that comes with holding a cherished item, feeling its weight, and reliving the moments it represents.
I have reluctantly begun crossing over to the dark side as I photograph significant items from my past. I no longer physically have my trophies from baseball, football, basketball, and bowling—yes, bowling. However, I have a digital image I can look at whenever I choose. More importantly, each cherished memory from the diamond, gridiron, court, or lane is deeply rooted in my soul, which no one can take away.
In doing this, I have realized that maintaining a clutter-free space doesn't mean erasing the past. The memories and significance of these items will outlive the physical objects and can still be shared, and living in a clutter-free environment can be pretty refreshing.
Still, an essential reminder here is that engaging with our memories is crucial. Sitting back and revisiting essential moments—whether through journaling, blogging, or simply reminiscing—ensures these memories remain vibrant. The physical objects might be gone, but the emotional and historical essence will permanently reside within our hearts and minds.
So, as a dedicated packrat and Baby Boomer, I say this: While it's okay to treasure old items, remember that their real value lies not in the objects themselves but in the memories and feelings they evoke. Whether we hold onto these items or let them go, keeping our memories alive and well is essential. Let's ensure we take time for reflection, cherishing our past while making room for the future.
Happy decluttering and memory-making to all—as you might find, the most important "things" are the memories you carry within.
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