Toys!

One of our gifts to my son yesterday was a toy gun that shoots out soap bubbles, with blinking multi-colored lights and "outer space sounds". My son liked it. I was sure he would. I was the one who bought it. I'm a toy expert.

I'm almost 50, but I've not outgrown my love for children's toys. I still can lose myself (and lose keeping track of time) when I'm in a toy store. The ones today are especially big and with so much variety, I'm like a giddy seven-year old when facing aisle upon aisle of toys.

When I was growing up, our family was not exactly impoverished, but we didn't have much either. We just had enough, I think. My inventory of toys regularly increased during Christmas, and this is probably the reason why I still have vestiges of my child-like anticipation of this season.

All my children's toys have long been gone. Even as I shun obsessive material attachments, I regret not having kept them, not so much for their material value, as for the memories they evoke. Memories of quite long ago, when life was simpler and held more dear; when I could laugh and play all day with nary a care; when I believed I could be whoever and whatever I wanted to be when I grew up.

I stopped getting toys for Christmas when I was 11 or 12, but the magic of Christmas has remained in me. I don't mind not receiving any gifts during the holidays, as I intrinsically disfavor being the object of fussing by other people. Even more, at my age I have moved up somewhat in my tastes for gifts. I prefer definitely better ones, like love, for example.

It's amazing how a simple toy is able to bring on this wealth of recollection and emotion.