He drove 1,700 miles to see us, and when he left, it felt like he took his childhood with him.
Three years after accepting a teaching job in Texas at Odessa College, our youngest son finally completed his move.
Last month, instead of flying home for his summer visit, Sam drove so that he could take the bins and boxes filled with books he’d left behind.
He’s an English instructor for a reason. There was no way his library could fit in the small U-Haul trailer he and his dad drove across the country on his initial move.
In addition to household goods and furniture, Sam had crammed as many books and movies into the trailer as possible, with the overflow spilling into his car.
“I guess I’ll have to come back for the rest,” he said.
Sam’s college office is lined with beautiful wooden bookshelves, and he’s been itching to fill them with his best-loved tomes.
With every subsequent flight home, he sorted through his stash, donating some and exchanging others. The problem is for every book he got rid of, he bought two or three more.
“It’s not hoarding if it’s books,” I used to say, but that was before his stash quadrupled my own.
He made good time on his cross-country drive, and like all my boys, he made sure he was home in time for dinner.
But.
“I’m not doing that drive again,” he said. “From now on, I’m sticking to air travel, so I’d better take everything I left behind.”
I was so happy to see him, I didn’t think about “everything” and what that entailed until he started loading up for his return trip.
In addition to four plastic totes and a cardboard box filled with books, he added some other items.
“I probably won’t move back to Washington until I retire,” Sam said.
Gulp.
Some things that didn’t make the cut on his initial move: his childhood Bible, his Pokémon card collection and a tattered, dog-eared copy of “Hank the Cowdog.”
I didn’t bat an eye at the Bible or the Pokémon cards, but seeing “Hank the Cowdog,” on top of his stack brought a tear or two.
Sam’s brothers are 10, 8 and 5 years older, but they’d all loved it when I read that series with Sam. We’d listened to them on audiobooks on carpool drives and trips to Loon Lake.
Sensing the inevitable, I mentioned his red bin.
Years ago, I bought four red totes. I sorted through accumulated memorabilia from my boys – report cards, yearbooks, sports trophies and honor roll certificates. I labeled one bin for each kid.
Ethan’s is still tucked away, but over the years, we’ve taken or shipped most of our second son’s mementos to his home.
Zachary took his bin shortly before his October wedding.
“I might as well take mine now,” Sam said.
First, he sorted through it.
“Think about your future wife and kids before you toss anything,” I said. “Think about what they’d want to know about your childhood.”
He nodded.
“Do you want my soccer trophies?” he asked.
I laughed.
“Nope!” I replied.
“How about my Baby Book?”
Oh! The record of baby showers hosted in his honor, gifts given, details of his birth, his first smile, first tooth, first words …
“It’s your story,” I said.
He tucked it back into the tote.
I didn’t watch when he loaded everything in his roomy SUV.
Sam returned to Texas with his books and mementos, but he didn’t really take his childhood. It’s all still here between the walls of this house.
Our home holds thousands of memories from his first step to the time he pulled into the driveway after a two-day, 1,700-mile trip from Texas.
Someday, we may sell this house, but his childhood won’t vanish with it.
Those memories, bigger than any plastic bin can hold, remain tucked within my heart.
Cindy Hval 