Growing up, my mom’s closet was full of boxes—orange & apple boxes, falling apart boxes…and a magical box. The magical box didn’t look special, except that it had circulation holes in it (I think it had once been an orange box). It was filled with old, unwanted toys my mom had grabbed from our rooms.
Amazingly, after a month or two in that box, all those stashed away junk toys became the objects of our desire. Magic!
I remember sneaking peeks with my brothers and sisters to see feet, eyes, wheels or fur of some toy through the holes of that charmed box. We’d sigh as we glimpsed those ‘treasures’ and wish we could get them out to play with again.
Time passed and those boxed-up toys became our obsession. We would beg Mom to please, please, PLEASE get those amazing toys out of that box. Life would not be fun until we could play with them…like in the good old days. Continue reading