The Pre-Christmas Purge

Now that I have my own kids, I like to reflect on my childhood and pass judgment on the things my parents did wrong. You know, the things I PROMISED myself I would never do as a parent-like tell my kids that they can have control of the radio when they own their own car, make my daughter wear a bridesmaid dress to the prom because it happens to be a few weeks after her sister's expensive wedding, sit at the table in front of a cold plate of liver instead of just agreeing to letting me starve. Nevertheless; as horrible as those things were, there is an (almost) equally long list of the things that I think my parents did right. Making sure we were culturally well-rounded, even when we couldn't afford it; allowing us each to go through our own phases without much interception (although in hindsight the phase where I refused to wear product in my naturally curly hair will fall into the aforementioned "wrong" category); and making sure we understood the value of volunteering our time to others.

As a kid, I always enjoyed helping out with what I felt to be my parents latest "crusade." I don't mean that in a negative way either, they always had fun and interesting volunteer activities for us to take part in. We spent several years packing bags and stocking shelves at the local food bank, we volunteered for a number of years at a local soup kitchen, we gathered the extended family and adopted a small nursing home during the holidays (we took one Saturday and spent all day decorating, singing, cooking, and having a mini-Christmas with the residents), and we volunteered as "helpers" during the annual Christmas Dance for kids with Downs Syndrome. I swear, my sister still has lingering bruises on her shins from dancing all night long with a boy in a wheel chair. But whatever the activity du jour was, it felt good, and we never argued about it or complained about being dragged along. I give my parents full credit for my continued enjoyment and passion for volunteering (see mom, I told you I would talk about this).

At five and almost two, my kids are still a little young for a lot of the volunteer projects that we take part in, but teaching them the concept of philanthropy has already started. As members of The Canton Chapter of The Foundation for Community Betterment, my husband (the Bacon) and I have been introduced to many great projects that illustrate Betterment's overall mission, which is to help others who share our philanthropic vision but lack the means to succeed. Believe me, I can (and will) dedicate an entire post to the topic of Betterment alone. This year we were lucky enough to get involved with a Thanksgiving project that allowed us to take our son to a "craft day" where we made place mats, napkin holders, and centerpieces for families who were receiving dinners from The Thanksgiving For Others Project. Explaining to him that there are people out there who aren't as fortunate as our family is sometimes a challenge but I think overall he gets the gist of it. 

This year we also did our annual "Pre-Christmas Purge," where we go through all of the toys in the house and pick out some of the toys that are still in fairly good shape, but are out of our play rotation, and drop them off at one of the local charitable donations centers. This year I was overwhelmed, and a bit surprised, by my son's generosity. He was certainly willing to part with some of his sister's "baby toys" because "she IS growing up now," but as we continued through our play room, he just kept adding and adding things to the pile. A race track that he had coveted for months and months and finally got for Christmas two years ago made it to the pile, some crafty toys that he said were too messy (what?), and a few miscellaneous items from the oft-forgotten toy box also made the donation box. And just to show that HE wasn't the only one who had to get rid of his stuff, we did a little purging of our own!

As the kids get older, I know there will be more and more opportunities to get them involved in charitable work the same way my parents did. I hope that someday there is a fancy-schmancy hi-tech device that allows my children to recount their stories of growing up with inspirational parents and translate those stories into eloquently written masterpieces that are automatically downloaded into our brains. Today that outlet is called a blog and my keyboard is the fancy hi-tech device that allows me to translate my memories into moderately well-written, yet wordy streams for others to enjoy.