An original Darth Vader toy in its original box is worth $900. Damn it! I HAD one of those! The box lasted til Boxing Day. Most likely, Darth is now slowly rotting somewhere buried in my parents’ garden. Why oh why did I open it!
My dad has the same regrets. He had the odd Dinky car or two. Now for him, Dinky cars mean childhood memories. But for us, Dinky cars mean reactions of surprise and joy on the Antiques Roadshow.
I’m looking around my kid’s room and I can see exposed Spidermen, Iggle Piggles, Lightning McQueens and Thomases. It looks like a war-zone. The dead lying legs, arms and wheels in the air, pining for the comfort of their boxes. Their boxes are nowhere to be seen. I’m trying to work out the monetary loss but it’s impossible. Maybe we should have heeded Nicholas Cage’s advice.
All future collectables should be put in cold storage and presented as a posthumous gift to my children for when they retire. They would certainly take care of rising medical costs. You might say, “but these are toys to be played with, not to be stored in their boxes, untouched and unloved!”. Oh, please! I’ve seen Toy Story. It’s a great film. But it’s not really about toys, is it? It’s about us, cherishing those special days when our children are full of wonder, joy and imagination. And anyway, selling their unopened toys to a Japanese museum for a huge profit seems like a better fate for them than undigestible worm food.
Photo credit: nashveggie