I recently bought a vintage Tuneyville Player Piano toy. When I saw it I was overwhelmed with childhood memories. It was my first piano. You put little plastic records in it and it plays music. The piano also works and comes with a music book that is color coded. Oh it was a sweet find.
I often wonder what happened to all my childhood toys. The only thing I have left from my childhood are a few Barbie dolls and Cabbage Patch Kids. There is no good reason I should not have kept my toys. My mom lives in the same house as I did growing up and there is plenty of room to store them. I am bitter.
Vintage toys are a big business. People pay a lot of money for old toys, especially if they are new in box. I don’t care about the toys being new in the box, but I do wish I had some of my favorite toys today to share with my son.
It is funny how things we once see as precious items, turn to junk, then back to being precious.
Sometimes we treat people the same way. When you are growing up your parents are the world to you. They are your best friend and you turn to them for comfort.
I think most people have that awkward phase when their parents are embarrassing to them. We still love them but we don’t want much to do them. I am not looking forward to that stage in my son’s life.
My dad always drove a pickup truck. When I was younger, all I wanted to do was jump in the front seat and ride with him. It didn’t matter where he was going, I just wanted to go. When I got told I couldn’t ride along, most of the time it ended up in tears and me sitting looking out the window waiting for him.
When I turned fifteen, I didn’t want anything to do with my dad’s truck. It was an eyesore to me, and I definitely did not want to be seen in. After my dad passed away, my mom sold his truck and 15 years later I saw a man driving it. I knew it was my dad’s truck, it looked exactly the same and still had the Donnie Keck Ford symbol on it. It brought tears to my eyes.
Every time I was in town and saw that man driving my dad’s truck, it evoked some sort of memory. I talked to the man once. I told him that was my Daddy’s truck and he quickly said, oh yeah, it’s a good truck. He went on to say how it had not given him any problems even though the truck was over 20 years old.
Next time you decide to throw away something that was once important to you, you may way want to think about it twice. I don’t know what happened to my Daddy’s truck. I don’t see it anymore. I wish I had asked the man about buying the truck back from him. I also wish I would have been smart enough to enjoy riding in it when I was fifteen.
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