I have a bunch of toys on my desk. And you might think, “well he works with kids, so that’s understandable.” Right?
Well yes and no. Yes, the “collection” of toys (which includes a slinky, a homemade rubber band ball, and a Mr. Potato Head to name a few) started as a something that the kids enjoyed seeing and talking about. But it’s kind of blossomed into something very different. Now, I’m super-possessive of these toys.
“Can I play with the slinky, Mr. Mike?”
“No. They get stretched really easy.”
The only toy I let kids play with is my Rubix cube. And I even offer a prize. I’ll buy lunch to any kid that can solve the cube in an hour.
And through the years I’ve also collected a very impressive collection of children’s books. And I’ve only paid for five or six of them. And just like my toys, I’ve become very possessive about these books.
“Can I read The Dumb Bunnies book, Mr. Mike?”
“Only if you promise to return it when you are done.”
It’s bizarre that I’ve started collecting these childish things, and then I don’t want to share them with children because they may muck them up.