Toys in the Attic

I get the call on Saturday at noon. I have lots of plans for the weekend, as I usually do, but I have to drop everything. This is an emergency.

“I’m cleaning out the attic today over at the old house,” my mother announces. “If you want any of this stuff you’d better come down here.”

The “old house” is the house I grew up in. I moved out years ago, and my mother had moved out several years before that. The house has been vacant for a while. But recently, my mother decided to fix the place up so she can rent it out. Step one, of course, is to get it cleaned out.

“I don’t think you’d want any of that old crap anyway, but I just thought I’d check.”

As a matter of fact, I do want that old crap. It’s MY old crap. My Childhood Old Crap. I’m talking about the Hollie Hobby Oven here. I’m talking Atari with all the old games. I know when she says “old crap” she is not EVEN referring to Space Invaders. That game is awesome.

And what about my Baby Chrissy doll? Or the Farrah Fawcett Barbie with the white halter pantsuit? And Wonder Woman! Dear God, this stuff is priceless!

I am in my car in 5 minutes flat. I don’t even shower.

This is an emergency!!!

The old house is about an hour away. Traffic laws are meaningless in a situation such as this.

As I pull in the driveway, I know that my concerns are not ill-founded. My mother has been here since 7am this morning, and there is already a huge pile of stuff out at the curb.

And what do I see at the top of the pile, the Garbage Pile, still in the original box that Santa gave to me back in 1976? As I get out of the car, I am shaking my head in disbelief.

“For crying out loud, Mom, my Lite Brite? How could you?!”

“What would you want that old thing for?”

The woman just doesn’t understand.

Not that she doesn’t understand about being a packrat, mind you. Oh no, she knows plenty about that. She is, of course, saving those boxes full of files from the company she used to work at five years ago. Because, well, you never know. And she’s trying to salvage that old desk that is literally falling into unrecognizable pieces as she drags it outside into the front yard.

And yet, she sees no value in my Dino Bank???

“I’m on my way home to get some lunch,” Mom says. “I’ll be back in about an hour.”

So I have an hour. One hour to go through the refuse pile she has amassed by the mailbox. I dig right in.

An hour later, my car is loaded to the top. The Six Million Dollar Man has been reunited at long last with the Bionic Woman. Charlie’s Angels have been spared the cruel fate of the dump. Ditto for their van.

What am I going to do with all my old crap? Well, I’m not quite sure. I suppose anything I’m not necessarily emotionally attached to will probably find its way to ebay.

I wonder if there’s anything I’m not emotionally attached to? I’m a very emotional person.

Later on at home, I am trying to explain to Mandy just how awesome my favorite toy is. I don’t know why she’s not getting it. I’ve even turned out the lights so we can get the full effect. Maybe if I sing the jingle…

"Lite-Brite, makin' things with light!
Outtasite, makin' things with Lite-Brite!"

“Can I go back to playing World of Warcraft now?”

“No, c’mon! This is great! I still have all the pegs! Let’s write your name in different colors, and then you can put it in your room if you want.”

So now Lite Brite is on top of the entertainment unit in Mandy’s room, in between the lava lamps. It’s a fitting place for it. And although it used to say Mandy, a few days ago it was illuminating a colorful flower, and now there’s a picture of a bunny.

Lite Brite lives on!