If you were born on earth, it’s safe to assume toys have been a part of your life since said birth; Here’s a rattle, here’s a set of giant keys, here’s a weird plastic chew toy that looks like a dog because why wouldn’t a baby want to eat a dog? From ancient stone dolls to a wooden horse on wheels, toys are an important part of anthropology.

What I love about toys is that they tell a story about who you are, and give a glimpse of who you can be. They can also serve as a guiding light for us if you lose the child within you. I’m not saying we should be giant babies with day jobs. I’m saying that the toys that we played with are touchstones to happiness that we need to hold onto when facing challenges. For example, I remember playing with my action figures in a park. It was in the sandpit area with one of those ridiculously dangerous metal diggers. I saw a kid watching me. I distinctly remember inviting him to play. That shared moment with my toys reminds me to always look up to see who you can make smile. That’s the power of toys.

Toys serve as a tangible connection to my past. Yes, I am aware how overly mysterious and edge-lordy that sounds but it’s true. A large portion of my childhood was spent in the Foster Care system. Looking back, toys were my plastic protectors to trauma. They served as kind of silent guardians during this period of time. I can pinpoint any traumatic moment in my childhood and connect it to a toy that I picked up and played with. The trauma – let’s say being whipped with a cord for not looking like your dad – takes the backseat to the joy of playing with a hunk of plastic.

It’s only in my adult years that I started to truly appreciate these plastic memories that I have. So, I don’t want them to stay tucked away in my gray matter. I want to share them. And that’s exactly what I’m going to do with you, dear internet.

I would like to start by saying that the photos you see will be photos found online. I do not own the vast majority of my childhood toys. However, I do own a few that might make an appearance. The point is not to show you that I still have my toys. The point is to share, document, and archive what these toys meant to me. I’ll share some heartfelt memories, some kind of sad memories, and also some rather funny ones as well. It’s going to be a smorgasbord of memories in plastic told through a bit of time-tripping. You ready?

Let’s dive in.

I was born in 1988.

This is my first obvious way to start sifting through the vast ocean of memory that I hold. I know that my memory is there, deep inside, like little lost treasures from a shipwreck that lay on the bottom of the ocean bed. It’s there, these once held treasures that desire to be held again. I just need to think. And I do. I think of my Uncle who hung himself in the basement. I remember this because I found him. What was it that I was playing with? Ah, yes! I was playing with a semi-truck and I was loading it up with dinosaurs. I was playing outside on the top of concrete stairs that went down to my Uncle’s basement room. I look now and I can see the rusted metal drain that sat dead-center on the bottom of the staircase. It’s summertime. I have shorts on. One knee is pressed on the sharp concrete. My chin rests on the other. I’m in some sort of uncomfortable kneeling position that only a pretzel-bodied kid can do. I want to go down the stairs and into the basement room. I do.

I jam my dinosaur toys inside the trailer of the semi and click it shut. Making a “truck” noise, I park it near the pile of smooth rounded rocks that sit under the endless wooden staircase, the kind that Chicago is famous for, that goes up to Babushka’s door. If she ever comes down she’ll surely kick my truck to pieces. It’s best to park it out of sight. Turning, I carefully walk down the stairs, grab the rusty doorknob and enter the basement.

It’s dim but not dark. The floor is tile of some sort. I can still see all the boxes and clothes and pretty much everything. I turn my attention to the right and spot a tub. Sitting on top are memories that I haven’t thought about until now: A KNIGHT 2000 KITT car from Knight Rider and an Optimus Prime Toy that’s in the truck mode.

I walk over to these memories and hold them. Everything looks so big in my hands. I flip over KITT and spin the wheels and open the door to look inside the beige interior. After a few smiling moments of this, I put it down and pick up the Optimus Prime. I instantly go for the wheels because, if this memory serves me correctly, the wheels are rubber. I could never figure out how to transform this toy. It’s okay though. This is fine. This memory is enough. A noise, the sound of snapping and gasping draws my attention to the far wall of the basement to a closed door shrouded in darkness. It’s 1992. I am four years old. This is incredible that I can remember this. I close my eyes because we don’t go in that room. Not anymore. Let’s go.

SNAP*

I’m in a garden apartment with my mom – she’s not on the faux leather black couch. The only light comes from the glow of a TV. I’m not sure what’s on, but my memory tells me it’s Hellraiser. I look down, and sprawled across the floor are a smattering of blurry toys. The only ones that sharpen into focus are Man-Bat and Batman from the animated series. I pick up Man-Bat and flap its wings. I can feel something pacing heavily in the outer darkness. I stay in the circle of light and bring Batman and Man-Bat close to my face so I can get all the good angles. The darkness can’t touch me when I got the freaking Man-Bat AND Batman, anyways.

This memory is cold. Staticky and uncomfortable. I close my eyes and….

SNAP*

I’m walking across Central Avenue in Portage Park, with my mom beside me. We’ve just left the 7/11 on the corner of Irving and Central. Though I can’t be certain, I have a sense that my dad is nearby. Unsure if he’s on parole, I still feel his presence. As we step onto the sidewalk, I glance down and see the clearest memory I have of unwrapping a toy – it’s the Uncanny Gambit X-Men figure. Slowing my pace, I carefully peel the plastic from the cardboard packaging, while my mom and the notion of my dad continue ahead. After a bit of struggle, I successfully free Gambit from his packaging. YES! Discarding the garbage at one of the free-standing trash cans on Irving, I hurry to catch up with my mom. It’s only when we’re back on Bernice Street that I realize his silver staff is still inside the discarded plastic bubble.

It’s 1993. Thirty years later, that sinking feeling still hits me in my gut. I love it. Perhaps because it’s such a vivid memory. Perhaps because my dad was truly there.

It wouldn’t be until later in life, at the age of 33, after he accidentally killed himself, that I would discover he is the sole reason I love comic books, superheroes, and toys. I have a pile of his random belongings. My favorite among them is his Marvel Superhero coloring books, which colored with great care and love.

I want to move on from this memory, so I close my eyes…

SNAP*

This memory is dangerously foggy. One wrong move and I might destroy it. I’m positive that I’m in Park Ridge. I’m with my brother again. This would be the last time. The apartment complex smells of curry – I think that’s why curry always brings me the sense of nostalgia. The memory is frozen. I see us standing on the balcony looking at the Blue Monster (a huge blue tarp by the train tracks) and watching it move as if it was breathing. We just dropped a couple of parachute guys over the balcony. Suddenly, the memory changes as if someone was channel surfing. Now, in my hands, are Power Rangers figures from McDonald’s.

I’m twisting the arms of the Red Ranger. It’s the big one. The one that came out before the movie. I drop that one and start playing with the Green Ranger figure, the one that has two heads – helmet on and helmet off. The smell of McDonald’s fills my nose. I lick my lips and taste phantom salt from my Happy Meal French fries. In my hands now, without my control, is the Blue Ranger’s tank. While this memory fills me another one comes up fast. I desperately want to look at my brother one last time but I can’t because this other memory hits fast:

SNAP

I’m at school in Wonder Lake. New place. New home. New toy. It’s lunchtime and we’re all looking at the table in awe. Spread across the face of the table are what appear to be endless POGS. YES!

This memory pumps me up because as I look down I can see some familiar faces. Everything from Power Rangers to 8 Balls. I loved these things. The kid next to me says watch this and stacks a dozen or so POGS and with a mighty BANG slams his SLAMMER down yielding a few POGS facing up. With a smirk, he utters a greasy “YONK,” takes them, and walks away like the ace that he was. I can’t see his face. I can’t see anybody’s face. A tidal wave of sadness fills me now. I turn and find myself at home in Wonder Lake.

It’s 1996. I’m alone. I live with my Aunt and Uncle but it’s temporary. They told me this. I’m on the swing in the backyard. It’s a solo swing tucked away near a line of pine trees. Wonder Lake, at the time, was very rural. The sights and situations I’d find myself in always felt open, free, and endless. It’s a key memory for me because I realized living here for the short period of time helped me settle. As I push myself higher on the swing, I feel something inside my pocket. With a bit of courage and skill, I jump off the swing mid-flight and land like a ninja. Diving into my pocket, I pull out The Human Torch and the Incredible Hulk from McDonald’s Marvel Superheroes line that came out in 1996. Looking up, I see my Uncle looking at me through the window. I have no idea if he likes me but I do believe he tried to kill me once.

I hear a kid screaming my name. I turn and it’s Alan. He’s running over the hill towards me while roaring about the new Jurassic Park Lost World merch that dropped. He’s holding a massive NERF gun that looks silly on a silly kid. I wave and see a JP Lost World Watch, the one with the Dino eye, wrapped around my wrist. I take a deep breath in because this is the end of the line for 96/97. I didn’t know this before but I do now.

Everything freezes, including Alan who is frozen in mid-skip, except for me. I look around and take in the beautiful day. If those Marvel heroes came out in May 96′ and those JP watches dropped in May 97, I guess I was only here for a little over a year. Boy, do I wish I could stay. I wish I could have done something to make my Aunt and Uncle want to keep me. The wind starts to whip across my face and high above the hill I see TJ on his BMX bike. TJ – my best friend at the time. TJ one half of the bash-brothers (Mighty Ducks). We’d ride our bikes like mad. We never played with toys together, though. TJ was into sports and that’s what we did.

I never got to say goodbye to them. It’s a weird situation. Looking back at this time I realize this is how an action figure must have felt when it gets picked up, traded, dropped off, and eventually forgotten at the bottom of a bin at the flea market. But those are action figures, Eric. Nobody would do that to an 8-year-old boy, right?

End of Part 1.