A few days ago I returned from a week-long visit to my parent’s house in South Texas. When I wasn’t busy trying to think of creative ways to prevent my spontaneous combustion from excessive heat exposure, I found some time to clean out the toy-filled closet in my old bedroom. And by “found some time” I mean I was tired of my mother’s dirty looks.
At some point while sorting through my memories from ages 2-12, I caught myself thinking something that horrified me: “They just don’t make them this way anymore.” Suddenly, a montage of every elderly person on TV I’d ever seen saying the exact same line flashed in my brain, and I felt awful. After about two seconds of feeling like the oldest person on the planet, I snapped the heck out of it because my point was totally valid.
The majority of my childhood has long since been given away to younger cousins and sold at garage sales, but every now and then while sorting through my piles of junk, I would come across a spare piece of a toy that instantly jarred my memory. READ FULL STORY