This is a maudlin story today so if you're not up to reading emotional trash skip this blog and wait for the story about Lucas' haircut which is going to be much more fun to read. Assuming I ever get it into words.
The story begins with me carrying Lucas in a toy store today and with Lucas pointing to a prominently displayed toy, crying "House!" (actually he said "Haush" but I'm going to translate his expressions into human speech for purposes of this story) and reaching to play with a familiar old friend. Immediately after this a pang of pain and, to a degree, guilt stabbed through me and tossed me into unfamiliar emotional territory for the rest of the afternoon and even partially into the evening. In short I was a wreck. To understand this reaction you'll have to understand some of the back story. (This, by the way, is called "in media res" and is a classy way of telling stories unless you make the mistake of pointing it out to the audience.)
So...
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The back story starts with Lucas' house. You can see the house in question in the picture to the left. It's one of those child activity centres you can find all over the place, given to him when he was around 9 months old. (The picture is from his first birthday, but this wasn't his birthday gift.)
When we bought him the house it was far too advanced for him. Still I reasoned that as long as it caught his attention (bright colours, interesting shapes and a keyboard that played single tones or whole tunes) it would be something he could grow into.
Grow into it he did. It rapidly became his favourite toy and, when a new toy of the moment temporarily displaced it, it remained the centre of his playtime existence. (More often than not we'd find his other toys stuffed inside it for storage. Whether they fit or not. Don't ask.) As he grew older he would find more and more things to do; become more and more capable of coping with the various puzzles the house offered. Other toys came and went, but none had the staying power of his house.
All good things must come to an end and the house was no exception. We lost the house to Joan's cousin. The cousin's family had come for a visit when Lucas was 18 months old complete with their son (almost a year older than Lucas). The son loved Lucas' house as much as Lucas did and was playing with it for the whole afternoon. When time came to leave the boy refused to let go of the house and kicked up an enormous fuss. (They're called the "terrible twos" for a reason, after all.) It was decided that we would let the boy take the house with him, complete with the play pieces, and we'd just get it back next time we visited them.
(Not decided by me mind, but decided nonetheless.)
I had an inkling of trouble when I saw Lucas' worried face as the door closed to the van and the family drove off. He knew the house was in there and he was very unsure what was going on. For a few days after that he'd ask after the house and cry when we told him he couldn't have it. (We didn't word it that way of course, but come on. He was eighteen months old. "It's not here" just means "you can't have it" at that age.) We always intended to go get the house from the cousin's place when we visited in a few weeks, but you know what they say about the Good Intentions Paving Company.
Weeks turned into months and we still hadn't gone visiting. Lucas had forgotten about his house, or so we thought. (This, in the trade, is called "foreshadowing" and is also a sign of class as a writer as long as you don't draw attention to it....) When we did finally visit my inkling was proven correct: the house had been viciously played with by the boy and was effectively gone: broken with most independent pieces lost.
I'd like to state, just to make it clear, that I don't blame anybody for this. It falls firmly into the camp of "life happens" and at no point was anybody being unreasonable, unfair, selfish or anything of the sort. Joan's cousin's family are some of the nicest people I know and they have done a
lot for us in the way of clothing, toys and general companionship. They even bought a nice toy for Lucas to replace the house (a toy he still occasionally plays with). Nobody could have guessed what happened next. (Well, had I been thinking I could have, but I was too busy lying to myself like everybody does. We call it "rationalization" but it's really just lying to ourselves.)
We didn't worry overly much about things. We assumed that Lucas had forgotten all about his house and that other toys had taken over as The Toy. He had toy cars aplenty (and as you can see if you peruse the album linked to by that photo above he's somewhat automobile obsessed!). He had as many toys as we could find that we thought appropriate for him and that we thought he'd enjoy. Obviously he'd forget about that silly house, right? (This is called a rhetorical question, BTW. Another sign of class in writing. This is really turning into a great work of prose, isn't it?)
Here's a clue. I'm almost 44 years old as of this writing and I still have vague memories of some of my favourite toys from when I was a very young child, even some from before I went to school.
Our illusions were utterly shattered when, almost half a year after the house went missing, Lucas stumbled across a small piece of green plastic. It was one of the animal shapes from his house designed to be pushed in through an appropriately-shaped hole in the top (and which would have the house making the sound of the appropriate animal as it was pushed through). Lucas, upon seeing it,
immediately recognized it and started asking us for his house again and would not take "no" for an answer. He cried loudly with a wrenching, heartbroken sound that echoes in my head to this day when I'm reminded of it. He was inconsolable and cried for hours, refusing every attempt to distract him with his other toys, newer and older alike. For days afterward he asked for his house (despite our quickly throwing out the piece that identified it for him) and would cry for a while when told he couldn't have it. Still, eventually that simmered down and he was back to being his usual happy self.
This brings us to today's little moment. The house in question that Lucas pointed to with such fondness was, of course, the same as the one he'd lost. The pang of guilt can be understood now, I think. The pain, however, is harder to explain.
What I felt there was sorrow. Sorrow at lost opportunities. Sorrow at broken continuity. The house that Lucas had was tied in deeply with all of his other toys. It was a prime playing piece of its own as well as storage for the other things he loved. Had it never gone missing it would still likely have occupied a central role in his playtime as he figured out more of its puzzles and as he found more uses for it. When Lucas saw the house today I saw the echoes of these opportunities, but only the echoes. He was happy to see his old friend, but it wasn't anything special anymore. It was one of a few hundred (thousand) things in the store he wanted to play with. Even if I had decided then and there to buy it as a replacement for his lost toy it would not have had the central role it used to have. That, more than anything, left me feeling depressed the rest of the day.
Just to keep the ending on an up note, I'd like to end by showing you what might well turn out to be the new central toy of his life (purchased just today!). It's amazing how colourful wooden blocks can interest a child, isn't it?
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