My favorite toy is, always has been, and always will be, the slinky. Yes, play-doh gives it a run for its money, but the slinky always comes out on top.
Not any new fancy rainbow plastic slinky. An old fashioned, shiny metal one, with my name written in red sharpie down the side. It’s missing both the little couplers that stop it from have point sharp edges, and sure, it has a few battle wounds. The very top likes to stand up, because its a tiny bit bent, but it still serves the purpose.
I have spent hours of my life, just pouring it from one hand into the other, or twisting it and turning it to make it jump. Hours of my life I do not regret. I have also spent hours of my life screwing around on the internet, or watching TV, or playing games. These hours, I regret.
The toys we had as children, our slinkies, and play-doh, and even simple cardboard boxes, they are held so dear in our hearts. I first thought that we loved them because we got to pretend and imagine with them.
This is surely true, but when I play with a slinky, I don’t imagine it to be anything but a slinky. We love these most simple toys, because we had complete control. We made them whatever we wanted them to be, and they were that. We could control the slinky, or what the play-doh formed. There was no magic behind the scenes, nothing more than what we had.
I still toss my slinky around, and it amuses me more than the computer ever will.
