In Which I 'Ascend From The Darkness'

My ascendance from darkness has been gradual and, in many ways, continues to be so. In my younger days the light shone brightly; a satisfied youth entertained by the simplest yet richest of pleasures. The treasures of enlightenment were mine and there had never been reason to question the integrity of the beacon that burned bright. As I grew, the temptations and pleasures of the world impressed upon me, and what I once knew to be dazzling faded into insignificance. For many years, girlfriends, music, good times and popularity occupied my mind. Most of those pleasures gave way to the necessary, yet equally distracting, responsibilities of adulthood: the mortgage, the job, the house, the wife, and eventually the kids.

Yet, forming in the womb of responsibility was the seed, the desire; the need for release, the necessity of light relief. Whilst maturity brought reward and satisfaction, there was something missing; something I once knew of: Lego.

It started with a chance meeting: children swapping collectible minifigures in the playground at the school where I’m a teacher. I took a glance and I liked what I saw. The details of what was glimpsed then do not remain with me, however, the knowledge that that instance was a catalyst is clear.

Happening upon Series 6 minifigures being sold in WH Smith was to be my second dalliance with my childhood friend. I saw the Roman Soldier on the packaging, and believing (in my naivety) that through the packaging I could feel a shield, I dutifully paid my £1.99. Upon opening I was disappointed to find the surgeon and to discover that what I presumed was a shield was the standard base plate supplied with all collectible minifigures. The fact that my Series 6 Surgeon minifigure now holds a special place in my heart is testament to the fact that this occasion was significant in my journey out of my dark ages. The Roman Soldier still eludes me to this day; however, I’m sure one day he’ll be mine.

It continued slowly and not without more disappointment: a totally blind purchase of another Series 6 minifigure left me with the rather undesirable Flamenco Dancer – an event which left me feeling disillusioned; maybe the light which had once shone strongly WAS just a childhood thing best left alone when in one’s mid twenties? Then again, maybe not; my two-year-old daughter adored the Flamenco Dancer who can probably be credited with igniting the flame of love within a new heart, which in turn gave me an excuse (needed or not) to pursue my journey to re-enlightenment.

Then, by a variety of means, I began to build a collection: Sun newspaper giveaways, small ebay purchases, more collectible minifigures. I began to take out my vast assortment of pre-dark age Lego whenever I visited my parents’ house. My brother-in-law began to show signs of emerging too, asking for and receiving Creationary and Lord of the Rings sets for Christmas. The Lego sessions at my parents’ house became family affairs; myself, my daughters, my wife, my brothers, sisters, brothers-in-law, sisters-in-law all on the floor, surrounded by the bricks and pieces that had brought so much joy years before.

Now, things are slowly getting back to the way things were. My new Lego collection is small (it fits in a shoebox) and real life doesn’t allow much money to spend on it, but I build and I create and when I do there is freedom and relaxation. There’s that old satisfying feeling of following the instructions, enjoying the model, breaking it down and adding the pieces to the pile and then creating again. There’s a knowledge that a lost part of me is now, once again, found.