We all have things from our childhood that mean a lot to us. There are items of lasting sentimental value that we hope to pass on to our grandchildren. And then there are items that don’t mean anything to anyone, except us. We have long since outgrown them – but just can’t bear parting with them – so there they sit: in our parents’ basements.
For my husband, it is the parts of a 486 DX2 pre-Pentium computer processor circa 1992 that have long since become obsolete. BUT he spent some of his happiest moments as a child building computers and he built a computer with those parts and he is proud of that. So there they sit, in his parents’ basement, because he refuses to let his parents throw them away.
For me, it is this:
It is a dresser – circa 2001. Decoupaged with hundreds of magazine pictures, clothing tags, and candy wrappers…by me. This is more from my young adulthood than my childhood – but I am no less attached.
When I was 15 years old, my dream was to become the fashion editor of Vogue Magazine. (Pause, while your jaws hit the floor). Yes, I’ve changed. A lot. But…when I was 15, I was going to be fashion editor of Vogue.
I also loved decoupage, making collages, scrapbooking – anything that involved scissors, glue and multiple mediums. There is just something beautiful about getting out your scissors and cutting up a bunch of greeting cards, newspapers or any other kind of paper that has outlived its use and turning it into something beautiful. Not only is it crafty, it’s also amazingly efficient. And I do not like to waste. (Yes, some things about me have not changed at all.)
Anyway, somewhere around 6th grade, I started buying fashion magazines and then, periodically, lovingly tore them apart and cut out all the best pictures for future use for … something beautiful.
This went on for several years – accumulating in several large shoe boxes under my bed – until one fateful day during my sophomore year of high school when my mom told me my dresser had gotten old enough that I could decorate it “however I wanted.”
I was elated. As a teenage girl, those are words that never leave your parents mouth. The dresser was old and ugly and brown and missing handles. It needed a serious makeover. My mind drifted to the shoeboxes under my bed and I asked my mom, “Can I decoupage the whole dresser…with magazine pictures?”
My mom looked at me with standard, “Only my Daughter April would Think of Something like That” look and said, “Yes.” She is a good mom.
So I bought two large jars of Mod-Podge (a special decoupage glue) and spent the entire spring break of 2001 in an empty room in the back of our old victorian home gluing pictures from every issue of Lucky, Vogue, Teen People and American Cheerleader from the past 5 years onto my old brown dresser.
At the end of those two weeks, I had transformed my ugly brown dresser into a teenage pop culture gem.
And I was proud. Proud momma proud. I was so proud – I had my mom take pictures of me (crop top, retainer, and all) with The Dresser.
I loved The Dresser so much that, two-months later, I convinced my dad to give me an old file cabinet from his office so I could decoupage that too. And I did. And since 2001 I have had a matching dresser-file cabinet set decoupaged in a tribute to teenage girlhood.
Now, fast forward 9 years, and I’ll tell you why I’m telling you all this. I am now an adult married woman who has not purchased a fashion magazine since high school. The last clothing purchase I made was at Wal-Mart. And The Dresser sits, where else, in my parents’ basement.
Last week I went to Mom and Dad’s to pick up some stuff they kept for me after the wedding. As I headed out the door, my dad said, “What do you want to do about your old dresser?”
I stopped in my tracks. What did he mean “do about?” I meant for The Dresser to sit in my parents’ basement until I died. My dad continued, “We’re turning that room into a pantry – the dresser has got to go. You want it?”
I do not have room for more furniture in our tiny 41st floor condo. We have no basement.
“Can we see if the Museum of Modern Art wants it?” I asked.
Dad rolled his eyes. Mom came down stairs.
“Maybe you can use it in your house?” Dad offered. Mom and I stared at him like women stare at men who make odd decorating suggestions.
“Yeah,” I said, “Except that I’m a married adult who lives with an adult male – and we cannot use that as furniture in our first home.” Mom nodded fiercely.
“So I should get rid of it?” Dad pressed.
I couldn’t keep the dresser. My parents couldn’t keep the dresser. But – some deep primordial maternal instinct cried out – this was too important to throw away. Even if I didn’t care about anything on the dresser any more – it was a darn good piece of art. That was two weeks of my 15-year old life. The Dresser and I had been through a lot. And in 50 years – it would be vintage.
I think my mother sensed this because she spoke up, “I think it would be a shame to just throw it out.”
Dad (for reasons I will never understand) also seemed to agree, “I could just tear off the front of the drawers and you could save the panels.”
I didn’t like the idea of ripping apart the dresser – not if it wasn’t necessary. I needed to think fast.
“Let me see if someone else can use this,” I told Dad.
“You have 30 days,” he said.
That was 10 days ago- and I haven’t thought of anything. So with 20 days left, I’m turning to all of you. I am SURE that there is some beauty salon, art studio, or otherwise trendy place that can use The Dresser (or parts of it) and appreciate its beauty. If you know of that place, please let me know. Or if you can think of some alternative use for the dresser, I would love to hear your ideas.
The bottom line is: I have 20 days and if I don’t hear from one of you – the front panels of The Dresser will be coming off and are doomed to spend the next 50 years in a storage unit until they are old enough that I can bring them to a museum or an antique shop and call them “Pop Art” or “Vintage.”
Please help.
