It seems my youngest son doesn't understand the question.
I mean, he's a boy (OK, a young man, but that's sometimes hard to remember), so "not understanding the question" is typically either a default setting or a coping mechanism. Or just this really annoying thing boys do.
Granted, he does have a lot on his mind. He's training, learning, getting ready for his overseas deployment with the U.S. Army and has a few things going on. So do we, both working, both busy with all the new grandbabies and lives that continue on here while he's living somewhere else.
So maybe he's not listening and maybe we're not communicating effectively. And maybe none of us really want to push the issue as much as we need to because, well, because. But I'm just not sure he's clear about what we're asking him.
What does he want us to do with his stuff?
Not a lot of stuff. A few totes, some boxes, clothes. The normal detritus of a normal life, compounded a bit many mementos a secondary education in America generates. Caps, gowns, tassels, rings, things like that.
And there's the silly stuff, the inside jokes of his life so far. A rubber Bald Eagle mask, for instance. Novelty T-shirts and a few outfits from costume parties. Track cleats and athletic gear. A stuffed animal his oldest niece got him for graduation.
Books, even some comic books from that phase. Random socks that likely don't match. Pens, pencils, the stuff that always seems to be around, that signifies someone lives here.
Except now he doesn't.
Do we frame the diplomas and awards he'll likely never hang, just to put them in a box he'll likely never open or even take with him as he moves from post to post during his career? Or do we maintain them in pristine shape just in case there comes a day when he does light somewhere and wants to pull them out, dust them off and show them to his as-yet-unmet wife and as-yet-to-be-born children?
Do we keep his room as a sort of untouched shrine to the person who used to live there or turn it into a guest room he can use? Because, now, literally, when he returns home, he's a guest.
It's not that unusual for the parents' home to serve as a quasi-storage unit for the kids, even if those kids live just down the street. At first, when they're just starting, we've got room and they don't. If and when that changes, well, they'll get their stuff soon enough. They've just got to move some things around in the garage or the attic, or they need to wait until they have more space because they've started accumulating stuff for their kids.
By the time the kids do need to collect their artifacts, there are usually a few other things going on. Mom and Dad are downsizing. Or moving. Or it's that time when a chapter and a house need to be closed.
Until then, we store their stuff. And, basically, we're all fine with that, knowing they can get it quickly and they know where it is. It's like a part of them is still here. And, as they build their own lives and the need for us to provide aide and direction decreases, it's still something we can do for them.
But with the youngest, well, he and the Department of Defense seem to think he should be on his own, far from our reach. And that there is a limited amount of stuff he actually needs and a limited amount of space in which it can be stored.
So, soon, before he wraps up training and leaves for a year and the start of his new life, we have to decide what to do with his stuff.
Some of it is timeless. Some of it, like the clothes, will be years old and long out of fashion and fit by the time he returns. We all need to decide what gets stored, what gets donated and what goes away.
But if you ask him that question about his stuff, if he answers, well, then we all have to acknowledge what we know and may have yet to accept. Soon he'll be gone from here. Soon and forever after, it will be different. Maybe better in some ways, but definitely different.
So we keep asking the question we all seem to act like we don't understand. Except, maybe we all do.