The Trash Picker

My grandfather was a man who hoarded things. Many times he would scold others for throwing "perfectly good things" into the trash. When he passed away, his bedroom was filled with miscellaneous treasures including tons of empty Pringles cans.

My daughter, Azure, has inherited his trash picking tendencies. She finds things on the ground and brings them to me. "Look Mom, somebody dropped the ribbon off their helium balloon! Look at this pretty pencil without an eraser! Wow a bookmark, can you believe somebody dropped this?"

I am inevitably repulsed by the various germ-covered things she presents me with. One time when she was visiting her friend Michael, they went through the next-door neighbors' trash. The neighbors had moved and left some "perfectly good things" sitting in the trash.

Among the things they found were a tricycle with one wheel and a broken kid's toy drum set. Michael's mother said they had a great time riding the tricycle down her driveway. She presented the drum to me where it sat in my garage until I could sneak it in the trash.

And boy do I have to sneak stuff into the trash. When I clean her room, I have to banish her from the premises. "But Mom, that's my favorite rock. I found it when I was walking from school!"

Two weeks ago her sister threw a dead rose in the trash. She pulled it out and put it in a vase in her room.

It dawned on me recently that she will never change. We were driving. It was nighttime and off in the distance were some lights. She asked, "What's that it's beautiful?"

That beautiful sight in the distance; it was the county dump!