The Collector

This is my old bedroom at my parents house.  Most parents would turn it into a study or even a home gym.  Mine turned it into my dad’s museum.

After my dad passed my mom started going through his things and was overwhelmed.  She called me to help clear it out.  He collected things he liked. The dream catcher is a symbol of his Cherokee heritage. The deer head wasn’t even a deer he shot, he bought it at a garage sale. The room was filled with car parts, 2 ladders, weed eaters, furniture, old fans, old gas heaters, antiques, tools and random novelty decor like that NASCAR clock hanging on the edge of the door frame.  It didn’t bother me or even hit me that this was wrong because I think I inherited this trait from him. He never threw anything out or got rid of anything.

This is after we cleared it out. The sheet was removed and there lie a whole other room of stuff and a closet that was filled as well.  Still didn’t hit me that this was strange or wrong.  You can see a stuffed pheasant ‘s wing in the left frame, a dolly, numerous containers of oil, a toolbox that my nephew is sitting on, the art on the wall was from a garage sale when I was 4.  It didn’t go with anything, it was just there.  Fishing rods and fishing tackle fill the other room along with old appliances, bedding, a bed frame, air compressors, paint guns and their working washer and dryer.

Still didn’t seem odd to me.  It was his stuff and that was all that mattered.