Little Clothes and Well-Loved Toys and Bags Full of Donated Memories

donated memories

I did some Spring cleaning recently resulting in a heap of bags needing to be taken to the local thrift store. I don’t recall being overly attentive while the cleaning was taking place. I don’t recall handling the small shirts, pants, and shoes with extra care, or being overcome with emotion as I placed them with the other items in the large plastic bags.

But, as I loaded the bags into the back of my car, my eyes fell upon a pair of shorts. An American flag print on a grey background, with white drawstrings. A matching pair for each little boy. Suddenly there was a flood of memories of my not-so-little-anymore sons running around in those very shorts. Our beloved small town 4th of July parade. Popsicle juice running down chubby fingers and landing on the fabric. Jumping on the trampoline; in those very shorts.

Popsicle juice running down chubby fingers and landing on the fabric.

My momentum slowed as I re-centered myself and went back inside to gather the next bag. This one held an assortment of toys that had been well-loved by both of my boys. One in particular caught my eye: a yellow transformer. I was instantly taken back to the Target parking lot with a small hand clasped in mine as I tried to calmly explain that we could not go back inside to purchase the yellow transformer. The tiny hand wrestled inside mine as a small voice, on the verge of a meltdown, formed its very best argument. One persuasive toddler plus one very generous grandmother equals one yellow transformer.

How has it been years, not months, since the Target parking lot?

Bag after bag I would spot a shirt or shoes or a toy that held some precious memory. These plastic bags filled with clothing and toys were a reminder of how quickly time is passing by. How it’s slipping away too fast for me to keep up. Wasn’t it just yesterday that my kids were running around in those American flag shorts? How has it been years, not months, since the Target parking lot?

A few moments later, with a car full of bags, I buckled my seat belt and pulled out of our driveway. I spent the drive to the thrift store in silence. But the car still felt full of noise. It was a mixture of laughter and stories all tied up in those plastic bags. It was the sound of memories being donated.

It was the sound of memories being donated.

When we offer hand-me-downs to a friend, or drop a bag off at a thrift store, we are sending stories along with those items. The next owner of the American flag shorts will create their own memories in them, and perhaps will pass them on once more. There’s a bittersweet life cycle attached to these little clothes and well-loved toys. We’re donating more than objects; we’re donating memories with them.