For the Next Generation

This isn't a Star Trek post or philosophical post, so do not let the title confuse you. This is a post about my son enjoying MY toys. Yes I am sounding like a three old saying "Mine, Mine, Mine", but on this go around, I am much better at sharing.

My Mom is a pack rat and I love her for it. I honestly think that if I ever had a girl, then I could do most of my Christmas shopping/Birthday shopping down in my parents basement. There are play high chairs, strollers, dolls, dress up clothes and beautifully decorated doll houses. There are even boxes of baby clothes all the way up to 3T, but I think I may have to refuse some of the more 70's or 80's fashion unless its for Halloween. Both my parents felt that they were done an injustice by their own parents when their toys were thrown out, therefore they never threw out anything. God love them.

If you have kids, especially young kids, a lot of toys are unisex. I had a Cozy Coupe made by Little Tykes (pictured above but without the eyeballs). I LOVED that thing and even had a matching gas station to go with it. Until now my son hasn't played with anything that I can remember from my childhood. Of course my Mom had saved most of the great baby toys for my son and nephew to play with when they came over, but I did not remember them. I did not have a bond with them. I can clearly remember riding the heck out of that yellow top car on my parents flat top drive way and somehow fitting my friend and I in the car at the same time. How that was possible I have no idea, but obviously my butt was a lot smaller back then.

As I went to my parents house on one mild winter day, I decided it would be a fantastic day to go and play outside. I also decided to surprise my son a bit and dig up that old car because there was an off chance that he may like it and may be old enough to enjoy it. As I carried the car outside on one arm and held my son's hand with the other, he was wide eyed the minute he saw that thing. I put it down on the level sidewalk outside my childhood home and my son immediately dove into the toy like he was reuniting with an old friend. He was in love. He had a car that he could go in and out of, that moved to his liking and had a little squeaker for a horn. The toy was finally brought back to its glory as only a child could make that magic happen.

As the day ended and it was time to go back inside for dinner, I was delighted to say the least. My old friend (my car) finally had a new generation to enjoy it like it should be enjoyed and there was no better person to share that with, but with my little guy.