There's something fun, yet scary, to know that a museum will take your toys from when you were a kid.
My parent's attic was a treasure trove of someone's ancient history... Mine! When the time finally came, I began to drag down dusty dirty relics of my youth.
First, the circa 1972 toy box, made by my Father, painted red, white, and blue for the Bicentennial. The inside of the lid still had chalk marks from me using it as a chalk board. The box had disappeared into the darkness at the top of the pull-down ladder many years ago, once again to see light forty years later. I had stored some of my toys inside it. A treasure chest to open later. A red fire engine with a working ladder. A stuffed blue bear lovingly made by my Grandmother. A four-foot orange furry snake won as a carnival prize by my cousin. Lincoln logs scattered in the bottom. Metal toy John Deere tractors purchased as souvenirs of Indiana State Fairs.
Then came the Star Wars toys, many still in their original boxes, battered and ravaged by a imaginative boy. Early on, I learned to appreciate the outer package, so they remained intact. All given as Christmas or birthday presents.
Personally, I like to tell the story about how my Star Wars action figures moved to their new home...
I had a plain unpainted wood Conestoga wagon with red cloth canopy. My cousin had given me a 1969 Sears metal doll house complete with plastic furniture, each piece a different color. I had a case full of action figures. In our living room stood three bookcases stuffed with books with about two inches on each shelf in front. Now imagine, a nine-year-old removing books to create rooms, furnishing each with plastic beds, tables, and chairs, then load the Conestoga wagon with action figures and drive them across the living room to their deluxe apartment in the sky... They were elated. I could tell by their firm molded faces. Who wouldn't want a fourth-floor apartment with a panoramic view of our living room?
Relics of my past. Now onto a museum. Aren't museums supposed to be for ancient history like mummies and old vases?
CSM
My parent's attic was a treasure trove of someone's ancient history... Mine! When the time finally came, I began to drag down dusty dirty relics of my youth.
First, the circa 1972 toy box, made by my Father, painted red, white, and blue for the Bicentennial. The inside of the lid still had chalk marks from me using it as a chalk board. The box had disappeared into the darkness at the top of the pull-down ladder many years ago, once again to see light forty years later. I had stored some of my toys inside it. A treasure chest to open later. A red fire engine with a working ladder. A stuffed blue bear lovingly made by my Grandmother. A four-foot orange furry snake won as a carnival prize by my cousin. Lincoln logs scattered in the bottom. Metal toy John Deere tractors purchased as souvenirs of Indiana State Fairs.
Then came the Star Wars toys, many still in their original boxes, battered and ravaged by a imaginative boy. Early on, I learned to appreciate the outer package, so they remained intact. All given as Christmas or birthday presents.
Personally, I like to tell the story about how my Star Wars action figures moved to their new home...
I had a plain unpainted wood Conestoga wagon with red cloth canopy. My cousin had given me a 1969 Sears metal doll house complete with plastic furniture, each piece a different color. I had a case full of action figures. In our living room stood three bookcases stuffed with books with about two inches on each shelf in front. Now imagine, a nine-year-old removing books to create rooms, furnishing each with plastic beds, tables, and chairs, then load the Conestoga wagon with action figures and drive them across the living room to their deluxe apartment in the sky... They were elated. I could tell by their firm molded faces. Who wouldn't want a fourth-floor apartment with a panoramic view of our living room?
Relics of my past. Now onto a museum. Aren't museums supposed to be for ancient history like mummies and old vases?
CSM
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