Have It All
The Legacy of Collecting

My son, Hunter, is a child of divorce. As such, he has two homes, with two sets of priorities, rules etc. Hunter's father, Doug, has no ability to understand or appreciate anything other than what he likes, nor is able to keep his yap shut. As such, the boy has to be deprogrammed every visit to The Fargo House. This includes explaining over & over to him “why we like 'old junk'.”

Ironically, his father is a collector. Doug collects anything with a Green Bay Packer logo (no matter how common it is), and most things with a football or NFL theme, and many things with Jeff Gordon, the car racing guy. And his father is the king of preservation of the original box.

In fact, one year when we were married, my folks gave both Doug & their other son-in-law some silly Green Bay action-figure-like-ornaments for the Christmas tree. The other son-in-law eagerly opened it, removing the figure from the card. Doug gasped & told him that he had just diminished the thing's value. We all stood in silence. Speechless as to how to respond to one man questioning another man's right to enjoy his Christmas gift. (Thankfully, Doug also is missing the ability to notice an awkward pause or a social faux pas, so we were able to move on without much more than a memory which would become a 'classic Doug moment.') But that's Doug's way. And if you think I exaggerate, let me set you straight.

Hunter, our son, just turned 5. And at his birthday party, he happily opened his presents. Upon the discovery of each & every die cast vehicle, truck, helicopter, a look of alarm crossed upon his face & he asked “Is this a collectible, or can I take it out of the box?”

What decent human gives a little boy toys that he's not supposed to play with?!

It's like giving a little girl who loves fashion dolls a new doll, a bunch of clothes, and the cool spa play set, & telling her to put them away for the great 'someday' when they would be worth 'something.' On the way up to the attic you can tell her how much money she'll make in 20-30 years. On the way down, you can hand her a pillow to play with – or to muffle her screams & cries with. It's cruel, but worth it, right? Maybe in a perfect world...

If money were no object, and the world ideal, I suppose the smart thing to do would be to buy the car loving boy two of everything – one to play with, as God intended, and another to store for the future, as a collectible. I'd imagine that in this ideal world, storage for 20 years is also a given. But if this was the way things were done, how would anything be desired?

If everyone did in fact save a copy of all their Hot Wheels, Tonka toys, and Barbie dolls, there would be no secondary market. There would be no joy of hunting for the third one in the series, the orange one just like you had when you were 5... There would be no victory at the last stall at the flea market or the last few seconds at eBay.

No one would then save their childhood possessions (well, Mom saves them for you, but that's another story...), their played-hard-with Matchbox cars & Barbie dolls, because they are not as nice as their preserved minty counterparts, are they? And where's the charm in these perfect things?

There's no rubbing your finger affectionately along the side of the red sports car, feeling the scratch, & remembering the day it narrowly escaped the crushing death of dad's car tires. There's no looking at the black marker on the back of Barbie's head & instantly being transported to the fun you & your sister had preparing Barbie for brain surgery, the marker being the last remnant of her pre-op markings for the surgeon...

Toys ought to be played with. They ought to generate memories. They ought to be rediscovered. And the secondary market ought to reflect which toys boys & girls played with & loved the most 'back in the day.'

Little boys should never need to worry about collector's conditions.

Not until he's 30, and has a house of his own... And that's where Mom's story begins...

Article by Pop_Tart


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