Goodbye to old clothes and memories they hold

On Monday morning, a steady stream of cars was rolling through the Northridge parking lot, hoping to make a drop-off at the Goodwill truck on 2007’s final day. But Danny, the Goodwill attendant, waved them away. The giant trailer had been full since Saturday.

“They’re not happy,” Danny told me, as a couple in a minivans drove off. “But we don’t have room to take anything else.”

Some headed a few blocks away to Goodwill’s Reseda Boulevard thrift shop, forming a carpool line in the store’s back lot. Drivers left their engines running and dashed out of their cars, hauling bags of clothes, old toys, sporting goods, television sets.

I watched the goods pile up in the parking lot. A tower of garbage-bagged donations already overflowed out the door from inside. When my turn came, I added three bags to the pile, grabbed my receipt and tried not to think about the snippets of my past I was leaving behind.

It’s become as much a way to usher in the new year as toasting at midnight or watching the ball drop on Times Square. We dig through messy closets, overstuffed toy boxes and overcrowded garages and turn our castoffs into tax deductions.

Given that Americans are such an acquisitive bunch; there’s always a new-and-improved whatever to add to our growing collection of stuff. The flat-screen TV sends the old console packing; the espresso machine takes the coffee maker’s place.

We store the surplus in garages so full, we have to park our cars on the street. One in 10 American households feels the need to pay for rental storage space just to handle the excess.

When we pare down, Goodwill is one of the major charities that reap the benefits. In the past 10 years, said Goodwill Vice President Mario Haug, the organization has grown in Southern California from 17 stores to 54, with 40 additional drop-off spots.

“At this time of year, we get such a huge amount of donations, we’re often struggling to keep pace with the demand. So many people want to drop things off.”

Half of all charitable giving in this country occurs between Thanksgiving and New Year’s Eve. And for groups that take in used goods, including Goodwill, “the week between Christmas and New Year’s is our busiest time of the year,” Haug said. “And clothing is primarily what we receive.

“People look at their Christmas gifts and say, ‘Where am I going to put this stuff?’ They’re off work, so they can take the time to go through their closets. . . . It’s out with the old and in with the new. And, of course, they want the tax deduction too.”

The sign outside the Goodwill’s San Fernando Valley headquarters in Panorama City clearly says, “No dumping.” Yet before the store opened Monday morning, a young woman drove up and tossed a plastic grocery bag stuffed with clothing on the tattered couch someone else had left outside.

I saw a flash of turquoise fabric -- I couldn’t tell whether it was a shirt sleeve or a pant leg -- as she let the bag fly. She obviously didn’t care about the tax deduction; she just wanted to be done with the outfits she’d crammed inside.

I envied her resolve, the way she tossed the bag without a backward glance. I drove away fighting the urge to rip open my garbage bags, take my clothes back home and hang them in my closet again.

Giving is hardly a passionless transaction, I’ve discovered, no matter how practical, generous and wise.

Bagging up the kids’ old clothes makes me realize they’re growing up. Giving up that short black leather skirt I starved myself to wear to my 30th class reunion means accepting that I’ll never be that fit again. That hot pink sweater I wore when I was introduced to my new boyfriend’s ex-wife? Just seeing it hanging in the closet resurrects the satisfaction I felt that night. And the billowing flannel nightgown my daughters gave me 10 years ago still says “mother of little girls” to me.

They don’t fit. They may be out of style. But for years I’ve kept them around because they reminded me of who I was, or who I thought I wanted to be.

But Haug of Goodwill reminded me of something too:

“You take those things -- the suit that doesn’t fit anymore, the shirt Grandma gave you three years ago that you’ve never worn but won’t get rid of. I can put a smile on somebody’s face with these,” he said.

Out with the old. In with the new, indeed.

sandy.banks@latimes.com