Our house movie collection had been combined of roughly 30 Disney VHS tapes that I accumulated during my children's growing up, and close to 200 DVD's that he'd amassed while he was living single-physically, and we'd gotten as a unit over the 21 years in the house.
The Lion King, Chitty Chitty Bang Bang, The Godfather I-IV, Kicking & Screaming. All of the Tyler Perry Plays. Boxsets of The Jeffersons, Good Times, Sanford & Son, Bob Marley-Legend. Beyonce in Concert. Michael Jackson in concert. Dora. Blue. Wubzy.
The sole copy of footage from my Christmas in Florida for my 16th birthday at my grandmother's new house in Kissimmee. My sister, my cousins and I coming into ourselves, in spite of our own fool selves. Joy.
The only copies of video footage that I had of my son, who was only on this earth for two and a half years and who I could only see or smell or touch now through photographs, and that video footage.
I had made it a project of mine, in an effort to maximize space in an already cramped house, to transfer all of the cd’s from the equally large collection of music, and all roughly 200 dvd’s, out of their cumbersome jackets and into sleek plastic sleeves.
Essentially getting rid of the 6 shelf bookcase that housed these melodies and moments, and rehoming them into 4 photograph storage boxes, not much larger than a shoe box.
Neat.
Out of the way.
A norm for the Hudson Valley in New York, where I live, is for the power to go out during a storm. It could be for an hour. It could be for a week. Nothing works until we connect the generator and for it to be worth connecting, we have to be out for at least two days. Those aren’t my stipulations.
And we know this ahead of time because the weather broadcasts for days prior in order for inhabitants to prepare. It’s what we do up here, above the boroughs, but below Buffalo. We get ready. We charge everything in order to entertain in the dark. If the power is gone for a few days, our bedtime preludes with a movie from our vast collection.
It was during one of these outages last year that I went to get Kicking and Screaming for my bedtime entertainment, only to find it was not there.
None of them were there.
Not one storage box.
Not one DVD.
Not one VHS.
Not one CD.
Not
A
Single
One.
When I asked him, as calm as I could muster because I already knew the answer though I didn't want to believe, and the Brooklyn in me was screaming to rise up, he said ever so cooly, "I threw them out...a while ago."
What could I say?
Discarded, with no regard, is not unusual around here.
