I put those plastic imaginary planets away a few years ago. Rightly believing, I thought, that the next time I saw them it would probably be when the grandchildren come to visit, decades from now.
That was until a simple trip to the attic, to put more stuff away for spring, during a cold and rainy day, led two little boys down a trail where plans, dreams, and planets never quite realized, stirred their memory and triggered their imaginations.
Soon, that clutter-free kitchen was once again transformed into a toddler’s playground, while the attic was a little less cluttered for once.
A chance to re-kindle hope.
So it is with children. Play is never carefree. It is focused, determined and has a pre-conceived goal in mind. It brings stress — a good kind of stress, I believe — the kind that brings production and good ideas.
What was play like before? In the old days when toys didn’t have websites to show you all the additional sets and parts, with photos showing you how elaborate things could be? If only you only hadn’t lost some of your parts to the sweeper, or the dog.
Watching them them now, older and wiser, finally getting it right, but still not-quite-perfect, I wonder, how many more chances will they get to do a do-over.