Growing up, I never cared about how my home was decorated. I went about my childhood as any normal kid would, playing, making a mess and occasionally disobeying my parents by playing too roughly around their knick-knacks and the like. And as we all know, with that last little bit, said nick knacks tend to get broken.
I would often find myself at the other side of a verbal lashing, my very angry mother lecturing about how I need to learn to respect my items and take care of the things that I have, because most of them can’t be replaced, or, more importantly, we can’t afford to replace them.
My home as a child was warm and inviting. Being from a very poor family we could not afford much, let alone afford nice furniture or decorations. She would pick up random pieces of furniture and decor here and there from thrift stores, rummage sales, or even alongside the road. Even though they were second hand and may have been in rough condition, she would bring them home, give them some love and turn our house into something resembling a catalog photograph. Friends and family would come to visit and would be in awe of how beautiful our home was decorated, how welcoming and picturesque it was, even though we had very little money.
Many of our decorations were one of a kind, restored by the talented hands of my mother and placed with precision into our home to create the magical illusion that we were somebody worth visiting. The pride my mother showed in our home instilled in me the importance of decor, why the items you bring into your home are worth caring about and protecting, and with that, I have learned to respect my home and the items within it.