Buzzing with anticipation, I drag my bin of legos into the center of the living room floor. I tip the bin up, unleashing a sea of pieces, little yellow men bobbing with the waves. The empty carpet calling to be covered is barely audible over the plastic rush.
So I build, fashion, fit. Deconstruct, retrofit, reassemble. My face contorted, I press harder, something won’t work. (“SHIT!” The release.)
These are two things I’ve inherited from my Dad: his building, and his short fuse. A spark of irritation sets the wick burning, hiss… BOOM. (“SHIT!” The release.)
Chunks fly, meet the carpet and dissolve into pieces again. I look around bewildered. Who said that? I did? Did I even know what it meant? Shit. But somehow I knew it was wrong, You’re not supposed to. But why not…? Back to my legos… Take a deep breath, try again.