“Millennials don’t want brown furniture,” Stephanie Kenyon, 60, declared in The Washington Post. She owns an auction and appraisal business. Same goes for rocking chairs or silver-plated tea sets, according to Kenyon—thus spurning a whole generation’s carefully collected heirlooms and antiques. Like mine.

I also don’t think my kids would want my books. They read differently—namely, on their devices. They also make dinner that way, so my cookbooks would gather dust on their shelves.

But if the brown antique tables were turned, I wouldn’t want some of their stuff either. 

Like my son’s skateboard. Watching him perform aerials and varials as a teen was a thrill. But as one who has sworn off climbing ladders, deciding it’s way too risky at this stage of life, why would I want to throw caution to the wind and roll on a platform? In the highly unlikely event that I would’ve ever had the desire or ability to master an ollie or kick flip, that window of time has rolled on by.

Or my daughter’s collection of oils, potions and supplements. She’s healthy all right, but is it her relative youth, or is it adding iodine drops to her water or bee pollen to her smoothies? The jury’s still out.

I’ll pass on my youngest’s vinyls and CDs. Vinyls? We called them records. Been there, listened to that and scratched them up. Didn’t we all rejoice when user-friendly CDs came out? Now I’m downsizing both. I appreciate the breadth of his music knowledge. I listen to some of his favorites myself. But I’ll skip the screamo and electronica in favor of music from my own young adult years and listen on my phone, laptop or Alexa.

Their collective vehicles—no thanks, for various reasons. One proudly drives a clunker. It’s his dinged-up badge of honor. It handles well enough, but it’s two-toned, parts patched together like a metal crazy quilt, and the MIA piece in front exposing the tank of wiper fluid gives me pause. 

Another drives a snazzy BMW that he worked hard for and paid off. But it’s a manual, and having never spent sufficient time mastering the art of the smooth clutch release, just—no. 

The car I might be most likely to drive is my middle son’s Dodge Charger, but he’s even considered selling it. He’s a father of two now, and it’s not exactly a family-friendly vehicle.

Anything video game related would also have to go. My millennials/Gen Zers grew up with good old Mario and Luigi, and nostalgia keeps them playing. I never devoted much time to it, aside from a few Guitar Hero rock star moments or Wii Fit sessions, where my Wii Fit age was so wrong. They can keep all the Game Cubes, Nintendo Switches, controllers and games. I wouldn’t know what to do with them.

My youngest’s carefully pieced together desktop computer is cool—for him. He built it with the help of a friend and claims it’s “20 times more powerful” than mine. But I prefer the portability of my laptop.

Of course, there are a few items I’d want. My daughter’s paintings for sure. Perhaps my son’s beautiful Facebook Marketplace dining room table find (though I have my own table).

But if I could have them, most of the things I’d want from my kids are the intangibles: her artsy creativity and fashion sense, his unwavering loyalty and work ethic, his kindness and playful parenting, his easygoing charm and people skills. Their collective humor and tech skills, too.

And I’d love to have their lack of accumulated stuff.