Waste Not, Why Not?

Growing up, Kim Peckham’s family never threw out anything. That changed in just one generation—his!

Here’s an interesting statistic. The United States produces almost 350 million tonnes of garbage each year. Most of that is made up of trial-offer CDs for America Online and empty Wal-Mart bags; but still, you’ve got to admit that we throw away a great deal of stuff.

At work I toss a lot of memos. We have this huge copy machine that works all day and into the night spitting out memos that say something like: “Employees are asked to refrain from bringing iguanas to the office during regular work hours.” Distributing 200 memos is seen as preferable to going straight to Julio in Accounts Payable and telling him that his co-workers are no longer amused when his pet eats their office plant.

the Peckham archives
I admit to a certain sense of accomplishment when I throw things out, because, frankly, we have too much stuff in our house. We have more shoes than the entire nation of Bangladesh. I have no record player but a lot of old records, including one featuring Engelbert Humperdinck with a pair of sideburns that would frighten small children. And we have accumulated a great stockpile of bandaids, as if our family is in imminent danger of falling into a blackberry patch.

I think my generation is more willing than my parents’ to throw things away. Their generation wouldn’t dream of throwing out the baby or the bathwater.

“In the old days we didn’t use bathwater once,” says my dad. “The whole neighbourhood used the same bathwater. We drew names to see who would go first. If you were in the top 10, you were grateful.”

When I was growing up, we never disposed of anything. Margarine tubs served as our breakfast china. Paper towels were all right for the Rockefeller family, but when we needed to wipe up a spill, we used remnants from old pyjamas. And don’t even get me started on aluminium foil. I remember reusing one 30-centimetre square through high-school years.

In contrast, my generation came up with the disposable razor, the disposable camera, and—after a brief infatuation with tech stocks—the disposable retirement fund.

n I’ve noticed that the next generation is even better at throwing stuff out than we are. The other day I was trying to take care of an urgent personal entertainment matter, and I couldn’t find the DVD remote. My wife recalled some suspicious activity on the part of our one-year-old, which led me to look in the garbage can. There was the remote.

It turns out that our boy had been amusing himself for about a week by throwing household items into the garbage. Some items we recovered. Others are at the city landfill, including a pair of new shoes.

Our boy was smart enough not to throw out any of his own toys—a surprising number of which play chipper pieces of music. I once stumbled into the family room in the dark and simultaneously set off three songs, including a number by Jay-Jay the jet plane called “Wing-Wiggling” and a Barney song in which the purple dinosaur talks about his “need for love.”

Human beings resemble that singing Barney doll. We are annoying, needy and not that bright. By all accounts sinners like us should have become extinct a long time ago. But God keeps trying to save us, unwilling to dispose of anyone until the last possible minute. No matter how we feel about clutter, God seems happiest when His house is full.

Reprinted, with permission, from Women of Spirit.

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