An age gap closed

When I was a little kid... I'm gonna guess in the 4th grade, my school bought a huge Lego set, presumably because it would be a really fun way for the students to learn about problem solving, direction following, schematic reading, and spatial recognition. As the kids receiving this gift, we were just completely thrilled. The Lego set was a giant pirate ship. Maybe if you know Legos, you know the set. It was probably two feet long, and about as tall, and it was really complicated, and full of fascinating details. As all the best Lego sets are.

Well, after playing with the set a bit (the older kids got to play with it more, so I mostly stayed at the sidelines and drooled), I went home and poured all my Legos on the floor, and fantasized. I had lots of Legos, and I even had the pieces from an amazing castle set. Oh, it was sweet. Yeah, I had a lot of great toys, and specifically, I had quite the collection of Legos. Still, I didn't have the pirate ship, and I wanted it, really really badly.

Enter my dad. He had dished out the money for most (if not all) of my Legos (and the rest of my belongings, for that matter), and I think the idea of me not being happy with what I had irked him. He listened to my woes, as I sat on the beige carpet in my room, and then he did something he didn't do very often. He lied down on the carpet next to me, and he proceeded to build me a pirate ship out of the Legos I had. He tapped into this raw creativity, this childlike ability to play with toys, in a deeply productive way, and he made me a ship. It was genius. It had a below deck and an upper deck. It had masts. It had a crow's nest, a captain's bridge. It had a recognizable for and aft. It was a Lego ship. And it was great. My dad understood, the way very few adults care to, that the whole point of Legos, is that they can build anything. He saw no point to spending another $80 on new Legos, when I had so many, I could probably recreate our house in 1/1 scale. Most parents would probably understand this, in theory, but in practice, they would just suggest I build a ship, or whatever I wanted. But he built it. He summoned all his little boy spirit, and he made my toys do things I could barely comprehend.

The ship dad built, can I say, was hilariously colorful. It was designed only with shape in mind, and not color, or, really, style. But can I tell you, I didn't give a shit. It looked beautiful, as far as I was concerned. I played with it for months. MONTHS. Many many adventures were had, and before long, it was a modern day ship, with Navy officers, or perhaps cruise ship employees manning the decks, in place of pirates, privateers and British officers.

I was a creative little kid, if I do say so. I was resourceful, and I got a lot of bang for my parents' buck, when it came to toys. My imagination was pretty powerful (it still is, but I don't get to run around, making explosion sounds with my mouth, like I used to... what a pity). But somehow, I thought small when a big expensive toy like Lego was shown to me, by the massive ad firms that be. So, when that little hitch was unkinked by my dear dad--when he got down on the floor with me and played better than I--it remade me. I saw my toys as brand new building blocks, into fifth-dimensional worlds of lord knows what. And, not to put too fine a point on it, I saw my father as a really fun, smart, energetic person. He may have been acting frugally, but it was with complete love and energy and creativity that he connected with his son.

Thank you, dad. You are amazing.