On a mild March Sunday, my partner and I took advantage of the weather to clear out our cluttered garage and patio, prepping for our son’s upcoming 10th birthday celebration. We planned a Nerf-themed bash where kids would dart around the yard, launching foam darts at each other. While it wasn’t exactly my first choice for a party theme, it was inspired by a recent similar event for one of Tristan’s friends, and it served as great motivation to tackle some much-needed spring cleaning.
Our garage had spilled over onto the patio, and living in our compact Oregon home of just under 1,000 square feet with three bedrooms and three kids means we’re a bit cramped. Despite relocating across multiple states during our marriage, we’ve never quite managed to part with our belongings. Instead, we just keep lugging the same boxes from place to place, never taking the time to declutter.
I wouldn’t classify us as hoarders; it’s more that we’re unable to let go of all the sentimental junk from the ’90s.
As I sorted through the chaos, my partner, Sarah, stumbled upon a box filled with her old prom dresses. She gasped with excitement, pulling out a baby blue gown with puffed shoulders and then a black one adorned with sparkly buttons, recalling fond memories of high school, her dates, and how glamorous she felt wearing those dresses.
I couldn’t quite relate. I didn’t attend my proms, too rebellious in my teenage years. Just before the prom dresses, we uncovered my old Army jacket, a staple in my high school wardrobe, covered in punk band patches and memories. There was even a hint of blood on the sleeve, a reminder of acne I once battled.
Now in my mid-30s, with three kids and a career, I would never wear that jacket in public again, and thankfully, acne is a distant memory. Yet, I slipped it on just for old times’ sake. It still fit, and for a brief moment, I felt like that rebellious teen again.
This ritual of trying on my old jacket has occurred numerous times over the years. It represents that carefree spirit I once had, which is why I’ve held onto it for so long, alongside my snowboards, skateboards, and band tees. They hold no practical value but evoke a nostalgic sense of my youthful identity.
As Sarah held up another dress, this time purple, she hesitated. “What if our daughter, Mia, wants this for her prom?” she asked. I chuckled, “I doubt Mia will want to wear your ’90s prom dresses. Just like Tristan won’t be donning my punk jacket for his first day of high school. Most of those bands don’t even exist anymore.”
I could tell Sarah understood, yet she wasn’t quite ready to part with those pieces of her past. This is one of those often-overlooked aspects of adulthood. Sure, becoming a parent, buying a home, and completing your education are part of it. But so is trading in that punk jacket for slacks and a work polo, driving a minivan that makes you look older than you feel, and embracing the practicality of life. It’s about swapping out the relics of youth for what it means to be a responsible adult, which sometimes means letting go of items that once defined you.
In the end, my jacket, along with my snowboards and T-shirts, were packed up for donation. Sarah kept two dresses, claiming they could serve as dress-up outfits for our daughters, but I knew she was also holding onto them for sentimental reasons. And that was okay.
We took our donations to a Goodwill trailer nearby. As I watched volunteers unload our items, I felt a twinge of sadness. It stung a bit to see our cherished memories treated as just another batch of donations. Still, as a father in my mid-30s, the satisfaction of a clean garage made it all worthwhile.
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In summary, adulthood often requires us to let go of our nostalgic attachments and embrace new responsibilities. It can be tough, but it’s a necessary part of growing up and creating space for what truly matters.