Learn how my Uncle gave me his set of matchbox cars to me when I was young and how this influenced my understanding of passing something down from one generation to the next.
When I was a boy my uncle gave me his complete set of diecast matchbox cars.
There is a photograph of me as a toddler hanging on to our family coffee table, grinning in the flashlight of the camera’s aim, illuminated – darkening the background where you can see strewn on the carpet a multitudinous display of
diecast cars. Not only did my uncle give me his entire set of matchbox cars but he and my aunt would take me on Saturdays to the flea market to scout out hidden
diecast cars buried underneath piles and piles of junk. I was especially in love with the
Matchbox brand, which started out in England as the
Lesney company in the 1940s as a cheap way to sell toys to children during the war. I had
Hot Wheels too. And I liked
Corgi's models. But, my heart, in the end, was stuck on
Matchbox.
Visiting the flea market was a big deal. My aunt sold fashion for porcelain dolls. When she and my uncle frequented the flea market stalls, they were looking for deals on doll fashions. My aunt instructed me on the first day I tagged along to help them pick out fabrics. "Don't touch anything," she told me. She put her arms behind her back and turned around to show me, saying, "this is how you walk. Hold on to your arm so you can catch it if it tries to grab something on the shelf." She was right. The flea market stalls were filled with items that screamed "tangible!" The musty smelling curtains and chain-smoking clerks, ogling collectors handling precious prints of
Andy Warhol Marilyn Monroe's and 1950s Hugh Hefner Playboys were for me, a boy's wonderland. I obeyed my aunt, though, and tried not to touch. Besides, I had no interest in handling thin veined china or opaque Depression-era glass. I wanted the toys. While my aunt and uncle felt and measured lacy fabrics, I would look for cigar boxes and glass cases filled with
diecast cars, hoping to find the prized Matchbox models that would add to my collection.
I am an educator and a writer. I was born in Louisiana and I now live in the Big Apple. My heart beats to the rhythm of "Ain't No Place to Pee on Mardi Gras Day". My style is of the hot sauce variety. I love philosophy sprinkles and a hot cup of café au lait.
Please excuse me if I find a running car sexy, especially if it's dirty and used, coke cans scattered across the dash, spilled on rotten cushions, the sound of a radio whispering through its slightly cracked window somebody's car — someone with a soul, with possessions, an eroding history pitted inside a car, still running.
