Bargain Gem

As you browse through your local thrift store at Houston, you might bump in to a short, curly haired Hispanic lady wearing a cute pair of flower sandals; this would be my mom. Ever since I can remember we’ve been shopping at thrift stores, spending HOURS at a time looking through the piles and piles of thrifty goods. Nearly every weekend we’d take the morning bus that would drop us off exactly 83 steps to our nearest Goodwill and then, after about 2 hours or more, we’d take the 2 Bellaire bus that would drive us all the way to my mom’s favorite Texas Thrift store. From little home goods, to clothes and even a full nativity sets, she’s filled our whole house with little nick-nacks. Nearly 80% of my home decor is made up of some type of thrift bargain. Sometimes she’d find things that would look nearly knew, and others she would give it a little TLC treatment to make them shine. I used to think my mom was a magician, transforming even the most dubious findings into a work of art. Oh, the stories I could tell of our thrifting rendezvous, but my favorite one would also have to be one of immense value to me.

Now before I get to the story, I need to explain; I’m near sure that by the time I was 13 we’d been to every single thrift store on this south side of Texas. Any time we had to head out (checkups, appointments, grocery shopping) if there was a thrift store on the way to that location, it was law that we stopped there for at least an hour before heading to our destination. Therefore, I think it’s a little reasonable to say that during my teen years I was FED UP with thrifting. Like all moody teens, everything suddenly sucked, looked boring and was so not cool. On this day I remember being extra moody and we had already been 2 hours deep into our goodwill hunt. I was lazily moving the clothes around, not really looking for anything, when I spot my mom making a beeline towards the furniture section. I gazed on in horror as I see her stop in front of the ugliest patio bench I’d ever seen. Already knowing what was coming I rushed over. “Mamí, what are you looking at?” I whisper yelled at her as I approached, scared that someone might catch us staring at this monstrosity. “Look at this! Wouldn’t it look perfect just outside our window?” I blankly stared at the rusted iron pieces loosely connected by some faded white boards. The boards had brown marks all over and the nails used to hold it together were popping out already, my mom must be out of her mind. “No, it’s old and broken. Plus, how are we supposed to take this thing home?” She glanced over at me confused, as if I were the crazy one. “It’s not broken! All it needs is a little cleaning and a repaint that’s all!” Without a second thought she took the price tag off and headed to the register. “Ok, whatever, how are we supposed to take that thing home?” I asked smugly, bet she hadn’t thought that through. Without answering me she proceeded to purchase it, return to the bench, and literally tear it apart, leaving me floored. “Here, you carry the boards and I’ll carry the iron pieces.” I could feel my face get red with both embarrassment, shock, and indignation; she couldn’t be serious! But sure enough, we wobbled out the store and took the bus back home. On one side of the bus my mom looking proudly at her findings, and I on the other looking shamefaced and hiding under my hoodie.

This woman wasted no time in trying to fix her new porch. I thought she looked like a madwoman as she laid all the pieces out on the porch then fumbled around the shed. “Wanna help me get this fixed up? It’ll be fun!” She held up a box overfilled with spray cans and cleaning supplies. I picked up a rag that had fallen on the floor, crusty from the last time she had used it. “No thanks, I have homework.” I turned around and went into the sanctuary of my room. For the next 3 hours you could hear her spraying and singing and hammering away. Suddenly, I hear her give out a loud yelp and ran out to see the problem. This crazy lady had accidentally acquired a splinter on her hand the size of my pinky. I quickly followed her inside and nervously looked through the emergency kit as she took the splinter out. No later than I had bandaged her up she starts heading back out. “Where are you going?” I was incredulous, no way was she going back out there. “I have to finish my project before it gets dark.” The anger rushed up my throat like a volcano and spilled out my mouth like boiling lava, “Are you kidding me right now? Why are you wasting so much time with that pile of junk when it is already old and broken? Are we really that unfortunate that you have to go around fixing trash?” For as long as I live, I will never forget what she said next. I remember her looking over at me, her eyes crinkling with a soft expression on her face that only a mother could possess. “Even though these little treasures are a little broken and old, with a little love, care and patience it can still last you many more years and help you make many more memories. I hope that one day when I’m a little old and broken, someone will fix me as well.” She then laughed, her soft voice like a gentle breeze before winking at me and heading back outside to finish her bench.

For many years after that bench has been the witness to many more emotional outbursts. It was where I cried on my mother’s lap after my grandpa passed away, where I had my first kiss on a breezy July evening, and where I last sat down to admire my home before I moved away. That bench still exists to this day. She, like always, had been right; it looks beautiful outside our home, receiving many complements over the years, and every time I visit, I give it a little pat before I go inside. It was truly the best thing we have ever found at a thrift store; a broken-down bench with a hidden lesson to go with it.