From child to parent: Falling in love with LEGO ... again
I will never forget the sound of a LEGO brick being sucked into a vacuum cleaner: The otherwise rhythmic humming would, all of a sudden, be interrupted by a brief slurp followed by the clack-clack-clacki-di-clack, signaling that the brick had now passed into the vacuumâs innards.
I had plenty of opportunities to familiarize myself with that peculiar sound when I was a kid.
Back in those days, the floor in my room was usually covered with LEGO bricks of all forms. The only free space was a small narrow path between the door and my window, which my mother demanded I keep free.
This arrangement worked well, with one major exception: the weekly vacuum cleaning.
As my mother navigated the vacuum cleaner down the narrow path in my room, she was always careful to leave my beloved LEGO bricks in place.
But occasionally, a brick was hiding in a hard-to-spot place, such as below the radiator or partially covered by the carpet. When those invariably found their way into the vacuum cleaner, they made that horrible, nerve-racking sound.
Knowing very well what just had happened, I immediately confronted her, shouting: âMOM â that was one of my LEGO bricks!â Her usual response was a not-quite-convincing ânooooooo ... it wasnâtâ. For a while, her timid response was enough to settle the matter for me. But eventually, I realized that I could just open the vacuum cleaner and take a look inside.
My LEGO collection spanned a wide range of themes: From Adventurers, over City and Pirates all the way to Star Wars and Western, I always had something that piqued my interest.
As a boy I was a huge fan of the Middle Ages, churning through dozens of books on the topic, visiting all castle ruins we could find in our region, going to renaissance fairs, and even getting one of my walls painted to look like a castle.
So no wonder that by far my favorite theme was LEGO Castle! Thanks to my parents, I had several castles, hideouts, vehicles, siege weapons and mini figures. All of these sets combined incredibly well, allowing me to mix and match bricks into entire worlds.
Of course, not all of that time was spent in solitude. A lot of my friends were LEGO fans as well. They had their own, unique collections, allowing us to expand our stories into even more worlds.
Once, I even carried all of my Castle-themed bricks to a friend. There, we combined our sets to build a giant, multi-layered castle and then laid siege to it. That epic battle lasted for several days and we had heaps of fun (teasing our bricks apart afterwards was less fun though).
Oh, the many hours I spent building stuff, coming up with stories, and then tearing it all down again. I probably spent a good chunk of my childhood in this way. And I loved every minute of it!
Time went on and I grew older. Somewhere along the way, my interest in LEGO waned.
My bricks no longer covered the floor. Most of them just stayed in their storage containers, patiently waiting to be wanted again. Only a few selected LEGO sets remained visible, nicely arranged in one of my shelves. They were no longer used for play though. Instead, they merely served as decoration, gathering dust.
But eventually, even those sets got stored away. The wall that looked like a castle suffered a similar fate when we painted it over in a plain white.
And so slowly, but steadily, LEGO ceased to be a part of my life.
It was a change I didnât notice at first, because school and other hobbies kept me busy. But it became glaringly obvious when I decided to sell my entire LEGO collection to get some money for whatever (I donât even recall what for).
Worse, I couldnât even be bothered to assemble the bricks into sets and sell those. Instead, I just sold it all in a big bag, measured in kg. I got about a hundred bucks for it and felt pretty smart, realizing only much later what an incredible folly I had committed.
Gone was my entire collection, and I didnât even shed a single tear for it.
Some twenty years later, we celebrated our sonâs first birthday. We decided that he was finally old enough, so we made him a special gift: a box of LEGO Duplo bricks.
Ever since his birth, I had been thinking about LEGO again: the joyful memories I had, the things I built, and the friends I made. The nostalgia got to me, and I began picturing how weâd eventually be playing LEGO together. Mostly, I wanted him to have the same magical moments that I had. But I also saw an opportunity to experience them myself again.
So I began shopping for LEGO. At first, I visited the official web store and checked for available sets. Of course, LEGO Duplo was what we had to start with, but I was also curious about what else was available, so I scanned through the entire catalog.
Sadly, something was missing. I didnât really connect with the sets I looked at. I was hoping for a feeling of excitement and wonder, but I felt barely anything. It didnât help that my favorite theme, LEGO Castle, no longer seemed to exist. Whatâs more, most sets just replicated existing franchises like Harry Potter, Jurassic World, or Minecraft.
That struck me as odd, because â at least to me â LEGO used to be a way to tell my own stories, with my own characters, in my own universe. Why would anyone want to limit themselves to retell stories that already existed?
Disappointed, I closed the official LEGO web store. Perhaps LEGO wasnât something Iâd share with our son after all? But then I had an idea: why not check what was available on eBay?
What I found there was amazing: the exact same sets I played with as a kid, mostly in good conditions, offered by dozens of people, all within the city we live in.
Looking at the prices, I realized two things: first, what a bad deal I had made two decades ago, and second, that my parents must have spent a fortune on LEGO.
Over the next couple of days, to avoid going broke, I decided to limit myself to four or five sets, selecting only those I loved most as a kid.
As soon as they arrived, I began assembling them. Officially, I was just checking for missing parts. But the truth was simple: I just loved reliving a part of my childhood. And just between you and me: I might have even played with some of the minifigures, but only when no one was looking.
The sets I purchased have an age recommendation of 8+ years.
Our son will only turn four this year, so it will take quite a while before he receives âhisâ gifts. Until then, they too are waiting patiently for him, below our bed, gathering dust.
In the meantime, weâre playing with LEGO Duplo! Weâve amassed a pile of bricks thanks to eBay, all purchased by the kg. This is keeping us plenty busy.
On most days, our son asks me: âdo we want to build something?â, to which I enthusiastically reply âYES!â. As soon as we arrive in his room, he proclaims âI have a cool idea, letâs build Xâ, where X can stand for pretty much anything: planes, cars, buildings, animals, or robots.
We then sit down to build whatever he came up with, alternating between who places the next few bricks. Of course, weâre not constructing masterpieces, but that doesnât matter. We just fill the gaps with a lot of imagination.
Occasionally, one of us is carried away by what weâre doing. It might be me, trying to improve one of our creations. Or it might be our son, taking whatever we build as the basis for a new story. When that happens, the other person leans back and begins watching. Weâre both learning a lot this way.
When weâre done playing, heaps of bricks are spread all over the floor, occasionally spilling over into the rest of our apartment. At first, we tried to clean everything in the evening, but we quickly gave up on this insurmountable task. Nowadays, we just make sure thereâs a narrow path between the door and the window.
And yes, I do realize that Iâm acting almost exactly like my mom now. At least, I feel like I understand her better than ever. But thereâs one thing Iâm never going to do: accidentally vacuuming our sonâs LEGO bricks.
Or at least, thatâs what Iâm telling myself.