Yesterday I discovered that Mark has the scene memorized from Toy Story 3 when Andy gives his toys away. That scene always makes me cry.
Richard doesn’t have especially fond memories of toys and he can’t figure out what all the boo-hooing is about.
I loved my toys. My siblings loved their toys. I visit Spring Lake and find Sarah’s dolls stored carefully in the closet. Joe’s basement is full of vintage GI Joe stuff. It was my finest hour when I found some Lego sets that Matt had as a kid at a yard sale and when I called to find out what to buy, he repeated again and again, “Buy them.” Susan’s ponies are carefully stored in boxes and I think Paul’s family owns every toy ever made. I have my Strawberry Shortcake dolls in a special box in my closet. They, having been rescued a few years ago from storage, require a little extra love. I pull them out now and then to comb their hair and sniff them.
I think our connection to our toys is sentimental and practical. Our childhood was a happy time. Our toys and games were a part of that. We saved our money to buy some of our toys so they represented our efforts and our self-control. They were gifts from grandparents and rewards for jobs well done. In effect, they are a record of our childhood.
The dollies pictured above are in Paige’s room. Every now and then I go in to see what she’s sewn for them. Their clothes are mostly handmade. It’s a whimsical escape for a girl who has a heavy school schedule.