Toy box blues

“Hey John is going to give us all their Lego.  It’s like a thousand dollars worth of pieces.”

Oh no.  Say it ain’t so.  My mind fills with plastic pieces and my feet cringe on anticipation of a midnight trip to the washroom.  But is it too good to pass up?  My son would love them.. Yet we’ve done so well keeping the plastic toys out for over two years!

The Lego arrives.  Our house is an ocean. My son is a current. Cubes of oil + chemicals start dispersing from the mass gyre uglifying the living room.  Beheaded men, parts of a ship that will never again be, and a chocking hazard of a cat devoid of facial features. Party’s over. I’m ready to sell the pile three minutes in.

Completely by coincidence we inherit a small set of wooden Lego on the same day.


At 60 cents a piece we barely want our son to touch them, but today I found him quietly building..quite proud of the final product.

It wasn’t a racing car with flames or a rocket ship with astronauts with swords, or a monster that turns into a machine gun. Or a faceless cat.  It was beautiful.


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