On the distribution of Legos
Everyone does it. There comes a point in your life where you start to think about your âstuff,â and what it means to you. It value, whether monetary or sentimental, has to be weighed against the realization that âyou canât take it with you.â It doesnât matter if you are a hoarder, or a simple-ist, you have accumulated stuff.
And somewhere after the age of 50 (not that Iâm admitting Iâm there), you begin to think about giving your âstuffâ away. If you have children, the most logical place to start is with them. Are there things that have enough âvalueâ that one or more of your children might want them? Or are your children like most these days â âI donât want your stuff, I have my own style and taste.â
Over the years, I have occasionally said to my mother that she should mark some of her things so that after she passes away, we (my siblings and I) donât have to argue over who-gets-what. To which she ALWAYS says, âif there is something here you want, just take it now! No need to wait until Iâm gone.â  And sometimes I have.
Adding to my dilemma, I have boys. Boys donât usually care about your stuff - or their stuff, for that matter. If it were up to them, the TV and stereo system would sit on 1 x 12âs and cinder blocks for their entire lives.
In our family, there really isnât much to hand down to the next generation of grandchildren. Many of our possessions have been handed down to us, or will be too worn out when we are done to be useful to anyone else.
The three massive plastic tubs of Legos. Those tiny, bright primary-colored, plastic squares with stubs that interlock, feeding the imagination of children for several generations.
As soon as our oldest was old enough to play with them without swallowing, he was introduced to a toy chest full of the bright bricks. The Legos we had at that time were handed down from the generation before â my husband and his brother had quite a collection from the 60âs and 70âs when they were growing up. This was before you bought boxes of pre-organized Lego parts, with instructions on how to build a pirate ship, or fire station. They were just thousands of little parts, which became cities, forts, cars, and whatever else happened to be the idea of the day.
As our family increased, so did the collection of Legos. Soon every birthday and Christmas included some box of Legos creation for each of the three boys. Over the years, the boxes included a Space Shuttle, large fire truck, elaborate electric train (with train cars and track built of Legos), entire Star Wars fleets, and so many others I canât remember.
Then eventually youth gave way to young adulthood and the Lego boxes, one-by-one, began to be stored away. Â Occasionally, when the whole gang has been together, one or more of the boxes are retrieved from storage to be rifled through and reminisced. About 2 years ago, when we downsized our lives, the boxes went to âliveâ in the storage unit of the youngest child â but with the specific instruction that sometime they would be divided among the three.
So how do you equally divide those thousands and thousands of little Lego parts? Is it fair to just give each a tub, and say âmake what you can with this?â
Or do you painstakingly sort through the thousands of tiny bricks and carefully pile the shapes, sizes and little Lego people equitably? This is a task Iâm not sure I want to be a part of!
We have grandsons now, and I think about this more often. When do they get introduced to these magical, imagination-expanding toys? Will they develop the same love for them their father and uncles had/have for them? I hope so.
For now, I think I will just add a line to my Will â âDonât fight over the LegosâŚthere are enough bricks for everyone.â And thank the inventor of these little plastic bricks, for the years of enjoyment he has given to generations.
tangentwithtanner
jacobvanloon
romaincrisis
theartofmadeline
kianamaiart