We got the call in late November.

Mom and Dad were spending the holidays at our house, but they had one simple request: They wanted a "real bed" in the guest room instead of the lumpy old futon.

Who could blame them? We should have seen it coming. In fact we should have thought about their comfort long ago. It's just that the futon was the perfect fit for our family. It allowed the room to have dual functions. For the majority of every year the room was Play Central for our daughter and her motley crew. Then for the remaining month or so, it was a legitimate guest room; all we had to do was open the futon. Ta da!

In an attempt to be two things at once, the room was neither. It was a lousy guest quarters and an unnecessary romper room.

Actually, the room was indulgent. Over the years it had devolved into a makeshift storage facility for a neat-freak wife and a sentimental husband unwilling to let go. Slowly but surely, we filled every inch of space in the closet with all the things we wanted out of sight and out of mind, but were unwilling to throw away. It had become a crypt.

All told, we pulled 17 boxes, a stack of kiddie games, an old suitcase and a broken turntable from the closet. It was like pulling clowns out of a Volkswagen Beetle.

So in early December we added a real bed, but more importantly we "came out of the closet" and started emptying our life at the same time. Pulling out all that junk was like telling someone a secret that you have held onto for years. It was liberating. Most of the stuff went straight into the garbage can; items in saleable condition were donated to our favorite charity, Goodwill; the sacrosanct we kept.

We didn't stop there. Like a liar finally telling the truth, confessing each and every detail, we ran from one closet to the next, rooting through the detritus and parceling out our belongings into "keep" and "discard" piles.

Each December, my family "cleans" the house in preparation for the New Year, but we have never done anything like this. Typically, we dust the furniture, straighten the knick-knacks and reshelf the books. It is a surface cleaning at best, for a house that is maddeningly tidy all year round.

Our house is kind of like a teenage boy heading out for the junior prom. He looks like James Bond in an oversized suit, smells like Coast deodorant soap and Dad's cologne, and is polite to a fault. But if you have an eye for detail, you will see dirt under the nails. But not this year, not this house, not this boy.

And to think it all started with a bed. Perhaps that is the way of life; we march on day by day until something happens, until something stirs the pot.

It may be a simple request for a softer bed or the flooding of a basement, but suddenly life is reordered. Change is difficult and sometimes the universe, or your parents, must give you a nudge. Oftentimes, you are left to sift through the junk and jewels and evaluate what really matters.

I can tell you this: If it is important to you, odds are, it is not stored in the closet, and if it is, it needs to come out.

Michael C. DeMattos is on faculty at the University of Hawai'i Myron B. Thompson School of Social Work. Born and raised on the Wai'anae Coast, he now lives in Kane'ohe with his wife, daughter, two dogs, two mice and 1,000 worms.