Have You Cleaned Out Your Childhood Bedroom?

This summer, my divorced parents are reduced at the same time, and although none of them live in the apartment in which I grew up, I have managed to go furtively/fortunately to keep the burning things in their homes. When they asked me to review my old things, my reaction surprised me …

I didn’t want to keep all those things, but I definitely didn’t want them To get rid of him. Close the museum of me?!?! It does not seem to me. I dragged my feet, I complained and expressed almost zero gratitude to people who had allowed their homes to be storage units for things that did not mean much for them, such as the letters I received in the sleeping camp a thousand years ago.

Even so, there were some real gems in the mixture. Although I am not very useful, I took the store class from the kindergarten to high school. In the files there was a box with hinges that I made at age five and then aligned with purple velvet.

Still proud of this.

“Don’t you want this wooden doll I did?” I asked my dad later. “Although he has mobile arms, braids made of yellow wire united to a nail driven in his head and a matching bed with painted roses?” I was serious. He smiled but didn’t say yes.

Much of my early art was very, very large. My mother had a 3 × 5 feet framed painting that I made of Demeter and Persephone since we studied Greek mythology, and my father had my self -portrait of similar size of the primary school, notable because of the fact that I accidentally put my eyebrows. low The eyes.

School photos when I was three years old (left) and four. The turtle’s neck has the words “big enough” printed around the torso, and I would like my parents to have kept it!

Although I had already reduced my collection in favor, it did not launch at several points since I graduated from high school, the current process was exhausting. I threw the yearbooks of the school but kept the photos of the school. I clung to the books that I loved when I was a child and pushed some ephemeral paper boxes on the back of my closet. Somewhere in that disaster is my ticket to see the Spice Girls in the Madison Square Garden in 1998 and the newspaper I tried to disguise as a school notebook writing English on the cover. (Spelling has never been my strong suit).

Goodbye, chairs:/

Returning to Brooklyn, I brought two old wooden chairs for children home with me. But after moving them through my apartment for a few weeks, I realized that I had no space. I worked my courage for days, then put them in the street and left with a true stab of sadness.

When I went to the winery later, the chairs had not yet been hooked, and I almost took them home again. Somehow I resisted the impulse, and the next morning, they had gone. I still miss them, but I like to think that they are used more in a boy from Brooklyn.

I took home the velvet lined box (of course!) And a machate dumb paper vase that our bright art teacher made us build around a tennis ball bowl to contain water and flowers. I refused to keep my gigantic self -portrait with my eyebrows under my eyes, but I still have the memory of my brothers laughing over the years. I did not take the wooden doll. She is sleeping peacefully in her personalized wooden bed with roses painted in a closet in my father’s house. I am still trying to convince him that it is the article of a collector.

Now, you tell me: if you have excavated your childhood room, what did you find? Was it something strangely difficult to separate? What did you do with the things you wanted to maintain?

PD: Where did you grew up and what is the age gap among your children?

(Superior photo of Gisela Gueiros apartment by Alpha Smoot, Kate Jordan Styling).