Do we even want to discuss how it got up there? Okay, yes we do. You grew up, right? You became a man and put away childish things. And you almost feel guilty about wanting to pull them down. But you’ve kept them. You didn’t let your little brother inherit them; you didn’t let your mom garage-sale them (or worse yet — sell them to a complete stranger on eBay), and they’re still sitting there in a cardboard box. Or a pile of cardboard boxes. Or maybe they never even got to the attic — they’re still in the back of your closet, or under your bed.
But you’re twenty-five. Or thirty-five. Maybe you have kids that have their own batch of bricks. And now you’re sitting there on the edge of the bed with a dusty-covered, slightly musty-smelling box that contains knights in shining armor battling green and black dragons, astronauts setting up a base on the moon for exploration, bits of Fort Legoredo still standing to defend against the bad guys, a pirate ship with the Jolly Roger hoisted … all the adventures you spent hours on every day as a kid until … something. And all your imagination was put in a cardboard box. And set aside. And forgotten.