Monday, August 8, 2011
I had great fun growing up, and toys were a part of it. A few jump out at me in the old memory bank. There were fun-filled summer days playing with Scotty and his many Tonka trucks on Lawn Avenue and those winter days on Stevens Avenue with the whole gang crowded in our kitchen with the that table hockey game. We had teams and tournaments that went on literally for weeks. My old trusty Teddy survived me dumping most of the contents of Mom's bottle of Chanel No. 5 on him. For years, he was the sweetest smelling teddy bear on the block. He's still with me today, riding shotgun in a box of J's stuffed animals in the attic. My bike, although maybe not a toy, was with me every step of the way, it seemed, in those formative years. And there were the assorted games, books, little green army men, the Roy Rogers Stage Coach, my cowboy outfit, skates, the orange and blue football helmet, a transistor radio, the paint by number kits found under tree on Christmas mornings. Did we get every toy we wanted? Are you crazy? We were typical kids. But as Mom and Dad would say as we got older, " Did we ever not give you anything you really needed?" And of course, the the answer honestly was always, "No." Sure there were things I felt I needed to survive and could not last the day without, but for the life of me, I can't remember what they were. I guess it's true, our brain can't remember pain.