I think they call it Corona Cleaning. If not, maybe we all will from this point onward. You know what I mean. We have finally gotten around to doing all those things we have been saying we would do for years — if we only had time.

Well, boy howdy, have I had time. I’ve had two months of time. I’ve had nothing but time since this whole mess began. But for every empty hour I have found an excuse not to do those things that I had put off doing.

Until Monday. Monday was to have been the day I started clearing the basement and attic and getting rid of all the stuff I have been accumulating since the beginning of time. I had good intentions. I really did.

I started with a big plastic bin that was under a lot of other big plastic bins down in my basement. I brought it up into the living room so the television could keep me company while I went through the clutter.

I intended to make two stacks. One for the stuff that I would toss, the other was for treasures that I just had to keep, for sentimental reasons and for old time’s sake. Y’all already know where this is heading, don’t you?

One of the first things I found was the announcement of my birth. I’m not sure I had ever seen that before. It was a small item that I had owned literally all of my life. I was surprised to learn that I only weighed 6 pounds and 6 ounces when I was born. I’m sure all those Winston cigarettes my mama smoked while she was carrying me had something to do with that. By the way. I have made up for lost time and have added about 220 pounds to my birth weight.

Obviously, I couldn’t throw THAT away. And there were also a few cards congratulating my parents on the new arrival. Had to save those, too. One of them was from Mary Virginia Wiley. I promise you; I would never throw away anything signed by Mary Virginia Wiley. She was one of my favorite people in the whole world.

There was a bundle of cards and letters tied with a blue ribbon. I untied the ribbon and realized that the handwriting on each envelope was the same, and there were more than 50 pieces of mail in the bundle. Some were addressed to “Darrell Huckaby, Porterdale, GA” and others simply to “Darrell Huckaby, City.” Others were addressed to me at my college address, and others — six weeks’ worth — were addressed to “St. Joseph’s Hospital, Atlanta, GA.” All were signed by “Aunt Annie Lee.”

Annie Lee Day, who was not my aunt at all. But she loved me like family, and I loved her. Mrs. Annie Lee Day was the Porterdale nurse and one of the most beloved people in that town. I was humbled to realize that she had spent so much of her life remembering every special occasion and event in mine.

There were other letters — some that I should have thrown away years ago but didn’t and others with which I could never part.

I found the registry from my mama’s funeral and, of course, I had to read through every name. There were lots of names in that book, and if you came to the funeral home when my mama died and I never told you how much I appreciated your coming, thank you.

I found a ticket stub from the 1976 Cotton Bowl game between Georgia and Arkansas. I wrote a book once, based loosely on that trip to Dallas. I was shocked to learn that the price of the ticket was only $10. It seemed like a thousand in 1976.

I found some of my mama’s old pay stubs from the Osprey Mill and was ashamed to see that she worked 56 hours a week, three weeks in a row, in 1967. She made $2.25 an hour. One week she only worked 40 hours and made $80 that week — $2 an hour without overtime.

I say I was ashamed because I am sure she spent all that overtime pay on me.

There were lots of odds and ends in that storage box from my summers at Bert Adams Scout Camp and some trinkets from the early days of my coaching career, too. I had to pause and study every staff photograph and every team picture and think about the great people I was fortunate enough to know.

After a couple of hours, I had a great big stack of stuff to keep and nothing to throw away, so I carefully put my treasures back in the bin and carried the whole thing back downstairs to the basement. My kids can go through all that stuff and toss it when I am gone.

I hope they read the letters and study the pictures first, though. I hope they realize that their old man really had a wonderful life.

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Darrell Huckaby is an author in Rockdale County. Email him at dhuck008@gmail.com.

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