From father to son

When we moved into our house a few years ago, my parents had a kind of fire sale, delivering all of my old junk here with such urgency you'd have thought they were taking in boarders. It all went immediately from their basement to our attic. Which, to be honest, makes sense. What were they going to do with all my Star Wars figures? Now that I have ready access to said figures, what will I do?

Two words: Nativity scene.

[I don't have the photo anymore, but my roommate and I actually did this in our senior year of college. You'd be surprised at how many people find Yoda in swaddling clothes offensive. And you don't want to get them started on Greedo as one of the three kings.]

For some reason, among the boxes of ornaments was a box full of my old Matchbox cars. These are old school, die-cast, late 1970s (probably running on leaded gasoline) cars --- the real deal. Samson is just starting to appreciate the joy of rolling tiny cars across wooden floors, and it was really fun to watch him wrap his little hands around my old cars and send them flying across the floor.

There is apparently some kind of trans-house, inter-floor road rally going on, because in just two days time, we now have Matchbox cars in every room and on all floors. It's pretty cool (we have races at breakfast).

Also, in the interest of full disclosure, I should note that there are some Hot Wheels in the collection, but I was always more of a Matchbox guy myself. I always felt like it was kind of a Beatles vs. Stones thing.