Among the things that generally happen when I am home is the Great Purging of Childhood Belongings.
When my sister graduated college, she never moved back home, staying in DC to this day. As she made a more permanent home, more of her things went with her. When I graduated college, I moved back home for varying periods of time, during which my parents and I both came to the realization that a twenty-something has more stuff (clothes, books, whatever) than can fit in a childhood bedroom. Since she wasn’t going to be using the space in her room anytime soon, my parents asked her to move some more of her stuff to DC; not everything, just enough clothes to give me an extra drawer and a few knick-knacks so I could have some bookshelves in her closet.
But this deal wasn’t just one-sided; I had to get rid of things too. The kids’ books were out, and the textbooks were in. The stuffed animals either got sent to live with us or donated. Any childhood clothing saved for posterity was gone. The last big purge occurred before I moved to Houston. I thought that I would miss all my stuff from babyhood through childhood and teenage-hood, but now I largely can’t even remember what I threw out.
The minute I got home last week, there were more childhood things of mine that my almost-but-not-quite-cured pack rat mother had for me to go through and get rid of.
This time, it was my childhood artwork. Let me take a look back now and see what exactly my elementary school art projects say about me.