Finding Rehomed Memories in a Thrift Store

One man’s trash is another man’s entire childhood.

Photo by Brooke Cagle via Unsplash

When I was little, we had these amber-colored dessert glasses. Like little glass bowls with stems. They were heavy. Well, maybe they weren’t. Everything is heavy when you’re eight years old.

I remember my mom would make my sister and me chocolate pudding. This was back when instant pudding wasn’t a thing so she would have to boil everything up, put it in the glasses, and cover them with plastic wrap.

We’d wait not-so-patiently for the pudding to solidify. You knew it was ready when it got that weird film layer on top. I have no idea why it was so gratifying, but you always had to scrape off that layer and eat it first. It’s weird. I get it.

One day I was walking through Goodwill and there they were. Five of those amber-colored dessert glasses.

I picked one up and held it, rubbing my fingers over the hard glass bumps on the side. I laughed quietly to myself. I was holding part of my childhood.

I could picture the kitchen table we had when I was a kid with the wallpaper with the small blue flowers in the kitchen. I could see my mom standing by the sink, washing…