When I was home for Thanksgiving, I got to see my cousin Lori. I hadn’t seen Lori in several years. It had been even longer since I’d seen any of her kids. The last time I saw Ben, he couldn’t have been more then ten. He’s about to turn eighteen. Ben’s a good kid, wicked smart, and funny. While we were talking at my parents’ house, I was telling the story of keeping the spare purple toys for Reggie in the closet. Lori started to laugh, saying that it sounded familiar. That’s when it hit me. I knew the story wasn’t new. The poor kid started turning red.
When Ben was a baby, his favorite toy was a purple Puffalump. If “Purple” was in the wash or got destroyed, Lori had a crisis on her hands. She’d have to go out and get a new one. One day, she found out that Fisher Price was no longer making these things, and she went on a search to find as many as she could. In her closet, she had twelve of them. I think the last one finally died when Ben was about six.
My story about Reggie’s purple toy isn’t all that original, it seems.
I reminded Ben that it was okay. First, we’re all family. Second, everyone in that room (except perhaps my dad) had changed his diaper at least once.
Good god, I’m getting old.