I got my Legos back.

I had the same bunch of Legos all through childhood, kept them until my 20s aka my second childhood, then added substantially to them when my friend Wayne Green left his collection with me. They ended up in Kentucky, in the care of my friends Marshall and Cara and their two daughters Sierra and Willow.

And they sure did take care of them.

The idea was always that the Legos would come back to me when I had a kid of my own, that only took fifteen years longer than expected, but my kid is here now and she’s old enough to play with little plastic chunks, so I went over to get them.

Holy Toledo, the collection has thrived. It’s at least half again bigger than it used to be, maybe twice the size.

We’re not sure how many Legos there are, where they came from, what they’re worth. There’s 70s Legos house bricks mixed in with 80s Legos spaceship and castle pieces, weird experimental 90s stuff and then we get into the movie tie-ins. There’s a Lego basketball court with spring-loaded Lego players who actually throw the ball. It’s baffling. Nobody can tell how much they’re worth because you could never buy a collection like this, assembled from the edges of forty years of childhood and now passed on to the next generation.

My daughter has been denied wooden blocks and Lincoln Logs, but by God she will have all the plastic bricks her little heart desires.