Last Sale

Mom used to have regular yard sales. When I was a preteen and through high school, she would have two or three a year. With seven kids I imagine it was more necessary than I appreciated back then. But she seemed to enjoy them too.

I didn't. I didn't like helping to make the signs, nor going around hanging them on light poles through the neighborhood. I didn't care to put the stuff out or put it back afterwards. And I was certainly too much of a youngster to have any interest in dealing with the people who came by. Yard sales just weren't for me. But I did my part because, well, a son is supposed to help his Mom. Even if he's a tad surly about it.

This past Labor Day was our neighborhood wide yard sale, on a Sunday for whatever reason. My brothers decided to participate, and I helped them a little. At one point, standing to the side and seeing various knick knacks and furniture of Mom's sitting across the front yard of her house, it hit me that that would be the last yard sale there. And I thought, damn. Just, damn.