Young Writers Society

“It’s a bit messy” I warn my guests. They approach 4M, a door plastered with signs that read “No smoking”, “Shoe free zone”, and “Doorbell broken, knock hard!”

Upon taking off their shoes, they glance to the left and their jaws drop. The room is silent; you could hear a yarmulke clip drop. Now, if we played “I spy” we would see the following with our little eyes: a baby carriage, a bicycle, office supplies, outdated video cassettes, pots and pans, oh my! Board games, a bookshelf and the piano it hides behind, a couch, a loveseat, a futon lying on boxes, and the notorious pile of laundry are all in clear view. As one guest noted “it is always laundry day by the Cohens.” If mother is home she will undoubtedly ask “Would you like to help us fold socks? We put our guests to work here!” Most guests give a forced grin, and I take them to the kitchen. Some have actually helped fold socks; they are duly appreciated. We walk back past the door stepping over the mess to the kitchen and I can’t help but feel embarrassed about my unconventional family.

The inevitable question is, “Why on earth is your apartment so cluttered?”

The answer lies in the Aqueduct Flea Market. Growing up, my mother never had much. After earning her own money, she happened on the place that changed her life and the life of her future family forever. She became a compulsive shopper, buying both necessities and luxury items wholesale. As a child, my mother wheeled me through the market in a baby carriage. After learning to walk, I collected old watch pieces and other undesirables to use for art projects. Surrounding me were the wafting smells of gyros and roasted corn and the sounds of eager sellers “Five dolla, right here today!”

My mother is the loudest and most vivacious person I know. She encourages me to talk to strangers and always speak my mind. She is still a shopping addict, and a pack rat, and our three bedroom apartment is filled to capacity with wholesale impulse buys. However, she uses her compulsions for good; she buys clothing for poor families, donates books to hospitals, and makes gift baskets for postal workers. Growing up as a frequent flea market goer, I learned to appreciate money and search for bargains with the five or ten dollars I was given. I fondly remember back-to-school shopping, where we bought clothes and supplies for my sisters and me at the same cost for one of us to buy retail. I never bought into the name brand fads that absorbed my friends from school because I saw how much more could be bought at the Flea Market. The fashion faux paus of wearing the same outfit as a peer would never occur, as all my clothes were Flea Market originals. The Flea Market has caused the Cohens to fight over space and complain about the lack of room to walk. But, it has also provided me with valuable experiences: I learned the value of a dollar, to be confident in my choices even when in the minority, seeing the joy on poor children’s faces after distributing 100 new pairs of shoes for free, and being able to say that I once bought seven pairs of pants for fifteen dollars. As a result of the Flea Market, my family is eccentric, but I wouldn’t trade them for the world.