What Do We Do With the Stuff Our Kids Don't Want?

Not too long ago, heirs would fight over who gets Mom and Dad's valuable collections — sterling silver flatware, Lladro figurines or Lenox china.

We're not talking about a couch or a crockpot, but carefully-curated, much-loved possessions that were once considered an emblem of success and gracious living.

But now, these once-coveted objects can be seen as more burden than blessing. Their demise has been attributed to everything from changing tastes to smaller spaces.

"Kids just don't want this stuff anymore," said Jim Berland, a Chicago collector of autographed manuscripts who admits to being "a little hurt" by his daughter's lack of interest.

As for "brown furniture," dining room tables with Chippendale chairs, breakfronts and buffets — "that market is over," Berland said. "You can't even give it away. Our kids look at these things as if they're garbage."

The story is the same for dozens of other artifacts — glass paperweights, leather-bound books, Oriental rugs, Wedgewood, and many other acquisitions that were once dutifully dusted and polished before being passed on to the next generation. Even today's bridal registries are apt to be more Target than Tiffany's.

If the rejection isn't enough, these heirlooms rarely command the prices their owners are expecting — especially after seeing someone hit it big on "Antiques Road Show" or "Pawn Stars."

To increase in value, items need to be in demand, rare and in mint condition, according to auctioneers, appraisers and antique dealers nation-wide.

"I tell clients that in every sale there are stars and cast members," explained Jacquie Denny, co-owner of "Everything but the House" a Cincinnati-based online company that runs estate sales. "It's why the mass-produced stemware of the 1950s and '60s barely gets $20, while Baccarat crystal can go for almost full price. Setting realistic expectations is just part of the job."

Take my Lladro – please — which my late mother cherished. I recently brought some of the glossy porcelain figurines into Secret Treasures Antiques in Evanston, Illinois. The owner, Dawn Okamoto, told me that she has "hundreds" which sell only occasionally, usually around Mother's Day or Christmas.

Typically, Okamoto buys them at garage sales and flea markets for a few bucks — then sells them in the $18 to $65 range – quite a tumble for objects that originally retailed for $300 or more, leaving customers crushed.

"It happens all the time," she said. "We let them know that the market bears the value. If there's no market, there's no value. It's all about supply and demand."

The tepid response is the same for my 70-year-old brother, who has been collecting stamps since the third grade. Despite the fact that his album may be valuable, he doesn't want to leave it to someone who will just turn it into cash – a transaction he could easily do himself. Instead, he hopes to give it to someone who will derive as much enjoyment as he has over the years.

So far, his offer has brought no interest from nieces and nephews. Stamp collecting is considered a "dying hobby" with the average age of enthusiasts over 60. Even if he did want to sell, prices in the email era have plummeted by as much as 20%, according to the Philatelic Traders Society. So, unless you have an 1867 Abraham Lincoln, which sold for $1.6 million in 2019, you may be in for a rude awakening.

Often, the issue is merely logistics. Many millennials tend to be more mobile, following the job and living in smaller homes. They have little or no space for a large-model train layout, said Melody Rogers of the Train Collectors Association. The organization has 20,000 members, down from 30,000 in its heyday.

The museum coordinator fields several calls a month from people hoping to "re-home" their precious contents at the museum in Strasburg, Pennsylvania. "They say 'When I die, my family will probably just throw this all into the trash' ... It's sad, but even we have to be concerned with space."

Instead, Rogers, who has been at the museum for 23 years, recommends some alternatives, such as toy train auctions or Ebay. "I try to use comforting words."

So, what is the hot market?

Items rooted in nostalgia, such as vintage toys, action figures, comic books, sports memorabilia and sneakers — or what Denny calls "Geek chic." (She recently sold a box of unopened Pokemon cards for a good price).

Professionals agree that their primary role may be sales — their usual commission is 30 to 40% — but they are often called upon to be part-time therapists, especially when clients are downsizing to an assisted living facility. They listen to stories about the deep attachment to the collections, the hunt for that elusive piece, the connection to long-gone relatives.

While it may seem that the younger generation has no reverence for the past, the shift in priorities isn't necessarily as insensitive as it may appear. They are often more interested in experiences — such as travel — than materialistic things. That is a different value from their ancestors, many of whom were working class or immigrants. Their possessions represented security and a sense of belonging; a sign that they had achieved the American dream.

Additionally, more people today are liquidating with a purpose, Denny said. One client sold his treasures, using the proceeds to send a grandchild to nursing school. Another, a widower, unloaded all of his late wife's jewelry, designer purses and other luxury goods. On their son's wedding day, the father handed the son a check for $23,000 and said, "This is from your Mom."

There is something special about owning a piece of furniture, crystal champagne flutes or Limoges china that has character and can't be found in every shopping mall. But young people have a more casual way of entertaining — a buffet on the kitchen counter, a barbecue on the deck or pizza served from a cardboard box. That isn't necessarily a bad thing. In the old days, after days of polishing, cooking and cleaning, Mom was often too exhausted to enjoy her guests.

Most of all, the elders shouldn't let their bruised feelings get in the way of their relationships.

"They don't want our antiques any more than we want their futons and particleboard furniture from Ikea," said one octogenarian, moving from her 3,500 square foot home to a senior community in the Sunbelt.

Denny said the job gives her a "front row seat" to how people transition in their lives.

"You are working with people at their best and their worst," she said. "It's an emotional journey to take apart a house. It needs to be met with practicality, but also with compassion and respect."