Shadow Puppet Storyteller

Clutter stories

I remember when teachers would reach the end of the year and would be taking down everything in the room – this has to be when my hoarding started. I'm sitting here staring at the laminated classroom attendence list from my daughter's 4th grade class; I'm certain she took possession of it from her teacher in the same treasure-laden glee I did at her age. First I'm struck by the history, the anthropology – numbered 1-30; the additions, corrections and scratched-off members of a year-long journey together. Proof that my daughter was in a class of 27- 29; fairly balanced between boys and girls. Names that I remembered having in my own elementary school education, the Michaels and Jackies, Johnnys and Alicias, And although there are many hispanic names, whether my grandmother realized it or not, I had many Hispanic, Fillipino, Asian and even Greek members of my San Gabriel Valley classes thirty-plus years earlier. All this from one item. And I'm seriously seeing a reason to repurpose a portion of it, since my daughter yesterday just came back from a week of camp and confessed to a small crush on an Asian boy, named Aaron. It's not the Aaron on this list from her own class a couple years ago, but Aaron is #23 to her #22 – without the numbers it will work for scrapbooking purposes.

So, truly, I have things to organize and pack – I heard a lovely talk just a couple weeks ago about a process for de-cluttering. It boils down to acknowledging that these things I hold on to each have a story. Understandably, for a writer, this seems vital. But instead of the physical stuff, I should recognize and record the stories, shouldn't I? So the memories remain, and are perhaps shared in a more elegant way than dusty piles.

The undated love note (on black lab puppy notepaper) from my daughter:
mommy I love you
So much and I know
you too: So you have
brown hair. You have bule (blue)
eyes. You have a prfite (perfect)
nose and you have a
lovey (lovely) moth (mouth)
So I love you so much and I
know you do too.

(I did not know I have a perfect nose!)

And her February 2008 essay about her 4th grade teacher, Mr. A:
There are many reasons why I like Mr. A. First, Mr. A is funny. He is funny because he lieks to say, “Easy as Sunday morning” after he explains something to us. Next, Mr. A likes to drink Monster energy drinks. He likes it because he calls it his sweet nectar. Last, Mr. A is a dad. Being a dad is great. My teacher is a great guy.

I, myself, knew the last point about Mr. A, once having attended his daughter's birthday party with my daughter and, also, having a breif encounter with him as we both sent our daughters off to Outdoor Science Camp (a week away from home). He was present as “Dad” and spoke as much about his pride as his own fear having her away from home.