We attended a Model Train Show. It was a huge pavilion filled with overgrown kids and their toy trains. It may offend some hobbyists to have their train sets called toys, but I’d feel dishonest calling them anything else. I had toy trains as a kid, and the trains I saw at the show look suspiciously familiar.
The show has a lot of people selling bits and pieces of train sets and associated toys, and a few people displaying the working sets they built. These sets are indeed impressive, with multiple tracks and detailed landscapes. They are far more elaborate than anything I dreamt of creating as a kid, because I was a kid and lacked the treasure and years necessary to amass such collections.
Imagine all the fights we could avoid at home if all his big brother’s play sets were enclosed in Plexiglas.
These kids, having invested many dollars and one lifetime, are seniors now. To be fair, some still cling to the edge of middle age. But there is a child left in all of them. They still get a joyful gleam in their eyes talking about trains. They are boys, owning the knowledge of age, surrounded by a toy store of their own making.
And who could be the mortal enemy of these men so innocent and childlike? Who could be the bane of these happy purveyors of toys?
Children.
Actual children – the ones not yet corrupted with knowledge of antiquity or the concern for monetary value – the ones inspired by the instinct that God endowed in them to reach out and touch a toy because it’s a toy.
“Don’t touch that!” I heard this shouted by more than one raspy voice at the train show. It made me sad, and not because it was yelled at my children. It was only said quietly to my children, by me, every 10 seconds. I wasn’t planning on buying a train, let alone a broken one.
But I wasn’t sad for the children who got yelled at. I was sad for the yellers. It made them seem less childlike and more childish.
It made me realize that, in this Little Boy Heaven, little boys weren’t welcome. The big boys were in charge, their love of trains tainted by a fondness for valuable objects.
Trains and fire trucks – the perfect storm of toys you are not allowed to play with.
My son wanted to buy a die-cast airplane for $140. One of the few financial joys of parenthood is opening your wallet wide, tipping it over, and letting your child see exactly zero dollars fall out.
“Ask the guy if he takes credit cards,” my boy suggested.
The boy didn’t understand that if I paid $140 for the plane, he’d never lay a finger on it. The only time he might see it is when we’d use it for our centerpiece at Thanksgiving dinner. It’d be one of our family’s most valued possessions. Valued possession aren’t for fun; they’re to worry about.
That is the difference between big children and little children. Little children don’t worry. They play. And toys get broken. And the future is still long and bright ahead. And life goes on.
Snoozing on the Sofa 
Kinda sad, actually. Toys are meant to be played with…..that’s why we buy a ton of crap at the Dollarstore. Then I don’t care if it gets broken or they lose interest. :0
When they’re little, Dollar Store toys are every bit as fun as expensive toys.
True story. And they last about as long as their interest holds.
I think we need to bring back red rubber balls and stick ball bats, Snoozer.
But who could make an expensive hobby out of that?
The already did, Snoozer. It’s called Little League. Mitts became gloves. Sneakers had to give way to rubber cleats. Cups for 8-year-olds, Jiminy Crickets, costs add up and it all continues to serious adult leagues.
I stand corrected.
Nah. It’s your house. I gotta shut my big trap. 🙂
No, no. I like your big trap. Keep it open. It says a lot of wise and entertaining things. And you’re absolutely right about Little League. I’d better start saving up.
OK, I didn’t want to overstay my welcome, my friend. 🙂 Thanks for the extra beer and hotdog. The flip side of Little League is you get to watch them play! My daughter played organized softball from tee ball through school junior varsity, and I never missed a game. Loved every inning. 🙂
Not even close to overstaying. You’re always welcome here. And I look forward to many innings of Little League. I hope I can be as loyal a supporter as you were.
Remember, the umpire never strikes back!
Ouch.
Sounds like you had a visit to the Lego Movie. Legos, which are a sophisticated interlocking brick system. Yes, you BUY it at a toy store, but it’s an adult hobby.
There was actually one whole train set and landscape made out of LEGOs. It had been assembled by somebody called President Business.
Noice.
At the very least, train shows should have places for more hands on stuff–that’s what all the Thomas stuff is for (or so they tell me)
Neither hide nor hair of Thomas was to be found. Maybe he’s not antique enough.
You’d think they would prepare for the kids that are sure to attend and have an area where the kids can touch and play with trains.
I think they were all waiting for somebody else to do that. Or maybe it’s just a lot of fun yelling at kids. I don’t know, I yell at kids all the time but I don’t ever get a kick out of it.
I have a 200 piece Superhero lead figurine collection which I collected over a six year period. (I never said I was perfect) It took Dude almost four of the six years to understand that the word “inheritance” doesn’t imply he can one day “play” with them.
And thank God for high shelves…
I can just see you doing you M.C. Hammer “Can’t Touch This” dance.
My my music hits me so hard, it makes me say oh my lord, thank you for blessing me with a mind to rhyme and a …. beat…
without google…
Reader was right. I DO like your blog! It made getting up at 5:00 a.m. worth it. Funny stuff and bleary-eyed coffee drinking somehow just go together. Loved all the pieces I’ve read so far, and I haven’t even made it to the fiction categories yet.
Thanks so much! It’s always a thrill when a new reader comes along and is inspired to go back into the archives and read the old stuff. Although, why anyone would do this at 5 a.m. is beyond me.