This week my youngest son got a desk for his room. He purchased it with his own money, something that both sons are wanting, needing to do lately, pay for things with their own money. I think it might have to do with growing up and responsibility and freedom….but I digress. When the desk and its subsequent chair were delivered, my son put them together by himself. Even though we had measured for a space in his bedroom, when the time came, we realized with a 100-year-old heater grate in the floor near that space, it would not be the best place for it. It is a small room to begin with and as we looked for other configurations, other issues arose. For instance, there are only 2 electric plugs, there is a hole in the wall my son made with his newly 6-foot-tall body while he was sleeping that needs attending and a large window on the south side. It seemed like a Tetris game we could not figure out.
Last night I suggested, stupidly, unforgivingly, that we severely cull the over 100 “stuffies” that take up a large amount of space in the room. There was much weeping and gnashing of teeth, not only by my youngest, but also his 14-year-old brother. Why was I killing their childhood? Every one of those stuffed animals has a backstory! My husband who normally sides with me, looked at me and said, you’re all on your own missy. I apologized. I promised to find another solution. But the suggestion still hung in the air.
Today while he was at camp, I moved the furniture clockwise, inch by inch until I made it fit. I swept all the dust bunnies that scampered out as I adjusted and readjusted, changed his sheets, and made his bed and gently rearranged his snow globe collection on his dresser.
I know my son well. I gave birth to him. I spend a lot of time with him but there is something special about tending to someone’s room, to see all the little objects he treasures, his copy of Brothers Karamazov which we are reading together this summer, laying right next to his bed so he can read his pages each night before bed, his picture of Yul Brenner in front of an old Mercedes, the drawing of “Hats Around the World” he meticulously researched and drew of nearly 50 hats this Spring, the string of hearts a woman at our church made and sent to him on his birthday during Covid times and those stinkin stuffies, of which he can tell you every single name, where he got it, what kind of personality it has and which alliances have been made with other stuffies.
When he returned home, you would have thought it was Christmas by his reaction to his new room. It was work he was dreading, now done for him. But I know it was more than just the work, it was about honoring him, the 6 foot tall, 12 year old boy with two gigantic bears on his bed, one named “Butter” and the larger one, not just slightly larger but 3 times larger, named “Butter-Son”.
Shemaiah, what a delightful story!
Beautiful. This brought me joy. In my family, it’s me that can’t seem to part with the stuffies of my kids’ childhood. I thank God for grandchildren (and a grand dog) who love them all over again.