A Child of, A Child of…

My father was a child of the Great Depression. Consequently, that makes me a child of a child of the Great Depression.

What does that really mean?

I’m not really sure beyond the quirks and foibles I seem to have acquired along the almost sixty years we were together. I don’t know whether or not to attribute those quirks and foibles to nurture, or nature: genetics, or environment. Nor, am I sure what difference it makes if it makes any difference at all

What I do know is a number of those idiosyncrasies made the generational leap!

You see my father was a hoarder. Not the kind that fills up rooms with all kinds of assorted unusable junk. The kind that hangs on to stuff most other people would normally discard like tools for jobs that no longer exist and keys for locks that are no longer used. And, that odd compulsion seems to have manifested itself in my life. Only I hoard emails, texts, messages, and even the odd document.

It stems from the deep-seated belief that it’s better to have it and not need it than it is to need it and not have it!

That’s become a problem for me now that I find myself in the middle of transferring data from one computer to another. The problem is what to keep and what to discard and whether or not my “6-Month Rule” would, could, or even should carry over.

What 6-Month Rule?

The one that suggests that if you haven’t touched something in six months it’s unlikely you will in the next six years! And, if it isn’t critical: something you need for a doctor, accountant, or attorney — you don’t need it…

So? What do you think… Transfer, or Delete? Let me know…