Rites of Passage

My wife and I just watched "Toy Story 3" for something like the 4th time. It got me to thinking about the rites of passage that we go through as we grow from being children to becoming adults.

It kind of reminds me of the passage from the Bible where it says, "When I was a child, I spoke as a child, I understood as a child, I thought as a child; but when I became a man, I put away childish things." This is true of everyone, yet I think we all have certain things that still hold a special place in our hearts.

As I watched Andy, the animated character that we have watched grow up through the three Toy Story films, giving his toys to the little girl at the end of the movie, I found myself tearing up a bit, recognizing that rite of passage that he was experiencing.

I can remember the huge collection of GI Joe dolls -- er, action figures -- that I once owned. I probably had eight or ten of them, plus tons of accessories, including the Mercury space capsule, the Sea Sled, a Kubelwagen (German army Jeep-style vehicle), and, of course, dozens of weapons, uniforms, and more. I smile when I think about them, not to mention that they are highly prized by collectors now -- If I still had them, my collection would probably sell for $2,000 or more. Hindsight, as they say, is 20/20.

I remember riding bikes with the other kids in my neighborhood for many years, first on a Stingray-style bike, and then later on what we used to call "racing bikes." The last bike I owned was a beautiful metallic maroon bike with 27" wheels. I rode that thing all over northwest Oklahoma City for several years, until I got my driver's license and my first car. Looking back, I don't even know what became of any of them, which kind of makes me sad.

So many other things, from Army Men, Blaze the Wonder Horse, and the Crayola 64 box to sandboxes, swing sets, and Superballs, all have faded into the past. Today's kids seem not to have much interest in anything that doesn't have an electronic screen (I have no room to talk -- I'm on this computer 14 hours a day or more at times).

Yet still, when I think of things like the big black bazooka my Dad bought me that shot huge blasts of air, or the way I used to build huge log cabin complexes out of Lincoln Logs -- and then demolish them by rolling a basketball through them, or the wars that my friends and I would have with the Star Trek Tracer Disc guns, followed by the searches we had to do to try to recover all those tiny plastic discs, I still smile.