Senior Year Box Set

He dragged his bear into his crate. Apparently, I sounded cross, and that was his go-to place when he was in trouble. I wrote on the side of the box that it was Duke’s toys and sealed it up before more were grabbed and hidden.

I heard the door open, and soon my mom’s head appeared.

“You about done in here?” she asked.

“What about my TV?” I asked. “Should I leave it for Melanie?”

“No, the girls claimed it for the pool house. I told them they can have your gaming console, too. You won’t need it if you plan to study and play sports at college.”

I bit my tongue on that one. I’d been looking for an excuse to get the newest model, anyway. As far as TVs were concerned, I would talk to the guys once we got to Oklahoma and figure out what worked best for the room.

We’d been promised we would all live together in the athletic dorm in one of their triples. They were basically set up like a small apartment with three single bedrooms that featured en suite bathrooms. The private bathroom would be a blessing because those two could make a mess, and I didn’t plan to pick up after them.

I stopped and thought about it for a moment. Maybe I should just get a TV for my bedroom. I wasn’t inclined to get a giant-screen TV and have our suite suddenly become hangout central. The dorm had a common room with a movie-screen-sized TV that already served that function. When I chose to go to my apartment, I wanted to escape from everyone so I could unwind and study. I figured I would want something similar at school.

“I’m almost done. Once baseball is over, I’ll pack all that gear up, and I should be good.”

“All right. Now go help your dad in the basement.”

God only knew what was down there.

“Can’t we hire movers to do that?” I asked.

“Quit your whining and do as I say.”

I was adding to my catalog of things NOT to say to my little ones. That one moved to the top of the list. The sad part was I knew at some point I would get frustrated and say those very words. I gave her a smile and saluted.

“Don’t start with me,” Mom warned.

“We should make Phil come help,” I suggested.

“Not happening. He would break something,” Mom said and left me with Duke.

He probably would.

“Come on, Buddy. We get to go help Dad in the basement.”

Duke was clueless. He wagged his tail like I’d told him he had to find the kitty.

◊◊◊

I was busy assembling boxes as my dad stood in the middle of the basement, looking stunned.

“Tell me again why I agreed to move,” he said.

“It had something to do with winters,” I reminded him.

“I think some of this stuff is from when we moved in. We didn’t know what to do with it then.”

“You do know that Habitat will come to haul it all away so they can sell it in their thrift store,” I proposed as an alternative to my ‘movers’ suggestion.

“I’m making a new rule. If we don’t use something for two years, it has to go.”

“Want me to call them?” I asked as I saw a glimmer of hope.

“Yeah. We can sort through this and figure out what goes with us. Your mom would kill me if I just donated everything,” Dad reasoned.

It was good that we did. Dad found some treasures from his childhood. He used to collect coins in those books where you put in one for each year. He had stacks of them. We also uncovered old vinyl records, photo albums, and a quilt his great-grandmother had made for him.

“Look what I found!” I announced excitedly.

I held up a Jart, a game Greg and I had found years ago in some corner of the basement. It may have been left behind by the previous owners. Our dad had finally banned us from playing with them.

Jarts were lawn darts with big metal pointy tips that you tried to throw into a circle on the grass in the backyard. We’d been caught playing chicken with them. It did get your blood pumping when your brother threw one of the Jarts straight up, and you had to stand still as it came crashing back to earth.

Dad had probably been right because it would have been only a matter of time before one of them got buried in the top of one of our heads.

“I thought I put those in the trash,” Dad said.

“I remember they were a lot of fun.”

“Do you trust Coby with them?” Dad asked.

He really was a fun-sucker. I put them in the trash.

◊◊◊

About two hours later, Mom found us relaxing while we drank iced tea in lawn chairs out back.

“You can’t seriously be done with the basement.”

“Dad instituted the two-year rule,” I offered.

Dad looked like he was about to have one of his headaches by the way he rubbed his forehead.

“Since he’s not talking,” Mom said, referring to my dad, “you tell me what the two-year rule is.”

“If you don’t use something for two years, you donate it. Habitat is on their way to clean out the basement.”

Mom mumbled that Dad had something that might not get used for the next two years and left us.

“That went well,” I said brightly.

Dad got up and trudged into the house. From the volume of conversation, he should have stayed outside with me. When Habitat arrived, I took the guys to the basement and showed them what was fair game.