This post continues the series of auto-ethnographic posts concentrating on my venture back to LEGO at an adult age.
I had had so many sets, I realized, and they had been a huge part of my childhood. And I had given most of them away. For a moment, I could not help feeling a bit let down by the folks at home: why hadn’t they prevented me from doing that? It is the responsibility of the parents to prevent their children from giving out their LEGOs, I cried in my mind. Teenagers are irresponsible! In a hormone-filled rush to grow up overnight, to seem adult in their friends’ eyes, they WILL to want to dump away their childhood belongings. They lack the better judgment of preserving memories of their childhood – for the most part epitomized in their toys.
The damage was done, however, and it couldn’t be helped. Or could it? I recalled hearing that LEGO had a web service of some kind through which you could order single parts in case some were missing or in order to make your own models. If, by any chance, someone had scanned the instruction manuals and brick lists of the sets I used to have, and shared them online, I might actually be able to build some of the old sets to completion!
I was mesmerized. Going through the remaining bricks, I now saw a new beginning in front of me. This time would be different: I would carefully catalogue the pieces I had, categorize them by theme and color and whatnot, preserve them in see-through boxes like those fancy folks used to, perhaps even build the set I had most fond feelings for, the King’s Castle, and eventually, place the complete sets in storage for my future kids to play with (supervised of course – we wouldn’t like to lose any more pieces).