It's "Just a Toy""

The phrase boys love their toys has been somewhat misused over time. Once a simple phrase to relate to how young men don’t easily separate from the toys of their youth, it now includes all manner of objects; cars, tools, and (sorry ladies) women. As the title suggests, I have held on, rather tightly, to one of the toys of my not-so-distant past- Buzz Lightyear of Disney’s Toy Story fame. I purchased “Buzz” at the height of the original Toy Story craze with the hope of squirreling him away for a few decades, until some future collector decides he would be willing to pay handsomely for him.

My Buzz was kept in his original packaging and untouched by human hands since the date of purchase. Buzz spent time in my first solo apartment, the basement of the first home I ever purchased, and until recently the bedroom closet. When I moved, unlike the dilemma he experienced in the first Toy Story movie, Buzz moved. He became a fixture that I had to explain from time to time as he was discovered in his various hiding places. Visiting children and even my own children asked to hold him, “just for a minute”, but the answer was always the same-no. He was a collector’s item, an investment.

In truth, Buzz had become more than his future value to me. I related to him as he attempted to prove to his friends that he was real. I had often felt that I always had to prove that I was who I said I was. My words weren’t enough; I had to show them that I really could fly. My disappointment didn’t materialize into acceptance that I was “just a toy”, rather I accepted that I didn’t have to prove anything to anyone; I just had to be me.

Old things becoming new again, at five, my son is infatuated with Toy Story 3. During a trip to the toy store, he wouldn’t leave without a six-inch Buzz Lightyear action figure. He was beyond ecstatic. An errant glance into my closet sealed whatever deal (or remaining youthful attachment) I had for Buzz. You see, his Mommy didn’t share my sense of investment, or the value of an untouched, un-played with toy. She gave it to him while I was at work, hoping to return it to its proper place. Enter my daughter, the 3 year-old who likes to shred boxes like a late night stock handler. Too late to repair, I have resigned to giving Buzz to Malcolm, and I have to admit, I enjoy watching him play with it more than I would have enjoyed the profit from his sale. After all it is “just a toy”.