Old Things

Marking our sixth move in two years (yes, that's right sixth), my husband and I drove a uhaul of stuff from my parent's home in FL back to TX this past July. Much of what was on board was furniture that they were kind enough to give to us, allowing us to finish furnishing our home. Beds, sheets, towels, dressers, and shelves will turn our previously empty rooms into a place for friends and family.

Then there were the boxes. The boxes that you inherit when you become an adult, live in your own place, and have some elbow room to take on all those pieces of your childhood that you left behind. As I mentioned a while back, I have a special affinity for hand-me-downs, for things that once lovingly belonged to a friend and now belong with me. On this, my husband sits almost diametrically opposed to me. The newer the better. Brand new preferable.

So, as I gush over my old puzzle collection, my many boxes of Legos, and my baby dishes, my husband grumbles, as good-naturedly as he can manage, that we will always be surrounded by old things. He wonders if our children will someday ever have new things even as I lovingly hold baby blankets made for generations of children before me and imagine covering our someday-child with them.

Looking for a way around this stand off, I briefly thought that we should wade through our old things together. Compromise is always easier when we are both involved. The idea never even made it to the table though. As soon as it had formed in my mind, I realized exactly why it wouldn't work. My husband's family left things behind when they immigrated to this country. The baby blankets belonging to great grandparents, the hobby horses, the toys, the hope chests, and the heirlooms, were all left behind for a new country and a new life. My husband doesn't have old, he only has new, and, as much as I want my old things to be our old things, they only tell the history of my family, not his.

I wonder what old things my family once left behind and I wonder where those things are now. It was so long ago though that the whole thing is intangible to me. It's someone else's history that is only very distantly related to mine. I hope that someday both my husband and our children will love the history in those old things but, in the meantime, perspective makes the grumbles and complaints about them easier.