Writing Exercise: Drawers

Pandora's Drawers by ~ShelseaRose on deviantART

"Have you cleared out that old dresser yet?"

"No, I haven't had the time."

"You know it's being picked up this afternoon. It needs to get done - now."

I've been putting this off all week although I'm not sure why. Maybe it's because it was my granddads and it feels weird going through his private things.

Digging through the pantry, I find a stack of paper bags with handles that should hold whatever clothing I find. I also grab some wrapping tissue from the hall closet just in case there’s anything else that’s fragile.

I start at the bottom and work my way up. As I expected, all the lower drawers hold clothing. Surprisingly, there is one completely full of socks, rolls and rolls of them. What catches me off guard is their organization.

My granddad was in the military. I guess his sense of keeping everything in its place was something he never got over; that after being retired for years, he still held onto such habits.

Me? Hell no. The minute I was free from that type of constraint, my own drawers look like a grenade hit them. In fact, I make it a point to toss it like a salad every chance I get.

But here, in front of me, was my grandfather, a man who spent a lifetime giving and following orders - even internal ones. How could I share the same blood, yet be so completely different?

Obedience is required of children and soldiers. But I was never a soldier and I’m no longer a child. As soon as I earned any autonomy, I held onto it fiercely, refusing to concede it to anyone, even my parents.

Yet looking at this sock drawer, epitomizing a life spent in conformity, I see a small similarity to my own. I too have had to comply most of my life, although not willingly. But now that I have more choices and freedoms, I strive to do anything but behave as I should: tattoos, multiple piercings, hair in various lengths and colors, anything to symbolize the fact that I’m different, making up for all those years I did anything to prove I wasn't.

Here are the remembrances of my granddad, who when finally given the choice to be free of the constraints placed upon him, chose not to change, not to rebel, to keep everything the way it was, because that's the way it had always been. He obviously believed in the old maxim: "If it isn't broken why fix it?"

I on the other hand seem bent on fixing something I'm convinced is broken.

Disregarding my previous thought of dumping the contents into a bag, I carefully remove each roll and place it in neat, organized layers. Looking down into the mass of tightly packed cloth, I marvel at how much I’m like him, and how much I'm not. I miss him now more than ever and think that perhaps, when I'm done here, I may just try organizing my own drawer, because in thinking about it, that would be different, now wouldn’t it?

© J.C. Montgomery 2009