Trash is not another word for mementos

The other day, I was leafing through my family album. As I gazed at the pictures and mug shots I noticed a photo I quickly decided should be my family crest. On it is a truck that greatly resembles Fred Sanford's; trash piled high with a dog hanging its head out the passenger window. On the bottom I wrote an impromptu family motto, Carpe Purgamentum.

For those of you who do not know Latin, this means "Seize other people's junk and store it in any available space on yours or your neighbor's property." Or, it could simply mean "Seize the Debris" The latter has a nice ring to it. The former is much closer to the truth.

I come from a long line of pack rats and junk collectors. My great grandfather collected spare machine parts which he used to create some of the most beautiful moonshine distilleries in North Carolina (he also collected jail sentences, which, according to other family members, he had far more success at). One of my grandfathers went so far as to collect children, many of whom turned out to be junk.

Not too long ago I was helping my dad, a weekend carpenter and woodworker, replace wood paneling in a hall with sheetrock. As he tore out old boards from behind the walls, I either placed the discarded lumber in the "still good" pile or the "we'll get it with the vacuum cleaner later" pile. As I was about to place a small shard of wood in the vacuum pile, I heard a scream behind me.

"Don't throw that away, I can use it!"

I looked at the sliver of wood for a second and then turned towards my father.

"Um, ok. Should I put it in the good pile or just slip under my thumbnail for safe keeping?"

As I dodged a small but potentially lethal piece of sheet rock I realized that humor, unlike our obsession with stockpiling random items, is not inherent in my family.

As for me, I save a lot of things that, unlike those of my predecessors, have significant value. For instance, my collection of old tee-shirts, sweat shirts, jeans, and other clothes. I have managed to go my entire life without ever having given or thrown away one single wearable piece of material, as well as several pieces most street bums wouldn‘t wear. At this moment, my closet has approximately 20 years of clothing in it (I had no control over the first ten years of my life, so many of those horrid pieces of apparel have been dumped; I have no desire to ever again wear a sailor suit or cow pajamas).

It wasn't too long ago that a friend asked me why I kept clothes I have either out grown or worn down to a few loosely knitted threads. I laughed at her ignorance replied, "One never knows when one is either going to run out of clean garments or suddenly shrink."

I saw a cousin do that once. Shrink I mean. On Friday, he was six foot. By Sunday, Leroy was four foot and vowing to never again help our cousin fix his tow truck, especially when the only lift available has degraded to the point that the only discernable color is rust.

Anyway, I suppose everyone has a little pack rat in them. In some drawer or closet or spare house I'm sure you have completely unnecessary items tucked away for safe keeping. There is no identifiable reason for doing so, yet you could never bring yourself to throw these items away. It is human nature to cling to what we hold dear. For some, its as simple as photographs, souvenirs from vacations and wedding dresses. For others, its potatoes shaped like the heads (and sometimes noses) of celebrities, which is what Leroy collects.

Each of our collections of memorabilia is special. Others may laugh, but we know the importance of holding on to what contents our hearts and gladdens our hearts, even if others, like Leroy (before catching the tow truck with his already flat head), make fun of us. Besides, I think Leroy looks good in the old Osh Kosh B'Gosh overalls I leant him.

Sure, he was swearing me up one side and down the other at the time I grudgingly handed them over, but I'm sure he'll thank me later.