The memories...

The toys they outgrow still hold memories.

Today, while Judah was away at his grandparents, Joellen and I finally tackled the overwhelming task of letting go of many of his old toys.

I went into it thinking it would be straightforward - quick decisions, a few bags for donation, done. I was wrong.

Joellen was the first to crack. A few quiet tears slipped out as she held certain pieces. I’ll admit, my initial thought was something like, “She’s always been the sentimental one, haha,” with a little, naive internal chuckle.

Famous last words.

Just minutes later, I was hit hard myself. It was this little dinosaur that did it - caught me completely off guard.

You’ll notice this toy is unopened. I was taken immediately back to when Judah received this gift. We were at his grandparents for Christmas, he had already opened a number of presents when he came to this one. He opened it up, and acted so excited and surprised by it. You would have never known he already had one at home that he had played with for some time and discarded to his boxes of toys he no longer plays with. Later that evening when we were unpacking his gifts at the house, I asked him about this particular toy, he said

“You know dad, I already have this toy. I didn’t want grandpa to know I already had it so I didn’t let him know.”

I’ve seen him do this before. He pretends every gift is the best thing he’s ever received - he wants so badly for the gift giver to feel good about the gift they’ve given. Maybe it’s a normal thing to do, but to see my own son do it for some reason means a whole lot to me. The thoughtfulness.

So anyway, that memory hit me hard today, and my masculinity hates to admit I may have shed a single, very manly, tear.

But it didn’t stop there. Maybe it was tiredness. Maybe it was the folksy, emotional music we had blaring. But it was difficult letting these things go.

Don’t get me started on this Mandalorian rifle. I was immediately taken back a few years when Judah had just finished the Mandalorian series on Disney and couldn’t wait to go Trick-or-Treating in his new outfit with his new “blast cannon.”

The Mandalorian Rifle.

This Jacket that kept him warm through snowball fights, walks around town in the cold Southeastern Ohio nights, and kept him toasty as he slept in his carseat during long car rides.

Ever shed a tear over a plastic switch-blade comb knife? ….No? Uhhh yeah, me either…

This pillow held his little bald head comfortably while I changed his diapers. So many diapers. Thousands. I haven’t changed a diaper in years. You’d think I’d smile over that fact. Not today.

Okay, I gotta stop.

These toys were just plastic and faded paint, but throwing them away felt like quietly closing the door on a tiny, perfect version of him - one who still fit in my lap easily, who asked me to carry him everywhere we went, who believed I could fix anything with a simple hug. He’s six now, all long legs and lots of opinions, running toward a world that doesn’t need those toys anymore. I know it’s right, I know we make room for new chapters… but it hurts to watch the past get carried away in a black bag on a Saturday morning.