"THANKS FOR THE MEMORY"*

Sep 17, 2025

3 min read

2

18

0

09.17.2025

A few thoughts on Boomers, dumpsters and Beatle cards from the 1960s.

A frequent topic of conversation among my boomer friends is what to do with all the things we’ve accumulated over a lifetime. Those with children or grandchildren worry that no one wants their belongings. Those without kids already see their treasures ending up in a dumpster. I tell myself it won’t matter what happens to my stuff once I’m gone—but then I look at my black-and-white Beatles cards from the 1960s and think, "Oh yes, it very much matters. Those are coming with me to the crypt."

Many of us keep items that belonged to our parents or grandparents long after our loved ones are gone. Those china sets, figurines, jewelry, and photo albums are still in boxes stored in our closets, basements or garages. Kudos to the folks who manage to let go of those trinkets and either sell, donate, or toss them into the trash without looking back.

The rest of us still hang on, not so much to the objects themselves, but to the people who owned them. Every figurine, tablecloth, album, and doily is an anchor to a memory, so what difference does it make if they take up precious space if it means we can hold on to those who loved us just a little bit longer?

Yesterday, September 16th, would have been my parents 74th wedding anniversary. I still have a fair share of items that belonged to them tucked away in boxes and cabinets. Each time one of them stares back at me from a shelf, I start to wonder: how did their generation become collectors of tchotchkes in the first place?

I think for those who lived through the Depression and World War II, having enough money to buy something non-essential was proof you had “made it.” It meant that you weren't struggling to keep a roof over your head. You had disposable income. Collecting collectibles became its own type of currency. And the more Hummels, Lladros, or canine-faced mugs you displayed, the more you could show visitors that you left hardship behind and were climbing the ladder of success.

That generation didn’t just buy one or two of their favorite collectibles, either. They curated their collection. They knew the difference between a Lladro and its lower-priced cousin Nao, and they could spot the difference between a genuine Hummel and a knock-off faster than then entire crew of Antiques Roadshow. Owning the real thing was its own kind of status and it told everyone you weren’t just surviving, you were thriving.

But we boomers don’t want these dust collectors anymore, and neither do the generations that follow us. Their version of “making it” isn’t measured in the number of figurines they own, but in the number of experiences they have and then posting their photos/videos online. After all, YOLO, right?

That's all well and good. Times change. It's the circle of life, and all that.

But before we start ordering dumpsters and throwing out everything that belonged to that generation, it might be worth remembering that these knickknacks meant the world to their owners. They were proof of their resilience, and symbols of having moved beyond poverty and into abundance. It tells a story of their version of their American Dream. So, if the Silent Generation found its voice in porcelain dolls and crystal candy dishes, then maybe we should pause long enough to listen and appreciate what it had to say before it is relegated to landfills and resale sites.

In the end, I feel like it's not so much that we're burdened with their stuff. It's more like having the honor of keeping their legacy. And that inheritance is worth everything, even if it means holding on to a salad bowl that's shaped like...well, a salad bowl.

FYI - Those Beatles cards aren't going anywhere, anytime soon, either. You can bet on that.

“Thanks for the Memory,” music by Ralph Rainger, lyrics by Leo Robin, popularized by Bob Hope (1938).