Return to Toyland

I had lunch with a college friend this past Friday. We hadn’t seen each other in, well, decades. But I would have known Nancy anywhere. She looked the same and she had the absolute same mannerisms that I remember. So familiar that, at times, I felt as though I was 20 again. 

We spent time talking about ourselves, of course, bringing each other up to date. And then she shared with me news of some of our classmates. And, at times, my heart stopped as I heard stories of pain and tragedy and death. I had a hard time reconciling this news with who I remembered them to be. It just didn’t line up. But, then, of course, it did. Because we were now living in an adult world. A world that we became acquainted with after college; a world that was filled with excitement but also challenges and difficulty and, sometimes, poor decisions.

As I drove home I pondered. A lot. Thinking of my earlier years. And it became clear to me how sheltered my life was, at least for me. I had little experience or knowledge of a world that included such pain. Which, as I sit here writing, I’m grateful for. As Corrie Ten Boom’s father explained to an elementary-aged Corrie when on a train once, there are certain subjects that we were never meant to know, subjects too heavy for us to carry. Until we become old enough, strong enough to handle them. When we become, or are forced to become, adults. A portal, so to speak, that we must go through to the other side. The adult side. A side that we can never avoid. Which reminds me of a song from the VERY old movie, “Babes in Toyland.” The chorus of the title song says this, 

Toyland. Toyland. Little girl and boy land. 

While you dwell within it, You are ever happy then. 

Childhood’s joy-land. Mystic merry Toyland, 

Once you pass it’s borders, 

You can never return again.

A child’s song filled with undeniable truth. 

So I find myself in a rare mood, looking at my childhood with a new perspective. It seems as though, from my first meeting with a therapist, so much of my attention has been on my parents (may their memory be a blessing) and how some of their wounds affected me. And, I confess, I have left my focus there far too long. I have forgotten about the goodness in my childhood. The careful sheltering my parents did for me. A shelter that included love and care and my introduction to Jesus. 

Throughout those first 20 years I developed not only as a person but as a follower of Christ - all of which, unbeknownst to me, prepared me as much as it could for the portal I would soon go through. From childhood to adulthood. And, as my classmates, I have not lived on this side of the portal unscathed. I, too, have experienced the reality of life, the unsheltered truth of this world. But as I sit here now, I discover a grateful heart. And memories. Memories of annual trips to Rhode Island for family reunions at Norwich cottage. My dad’s goofiness. My parents sitting and singing at the piano. My mom taking me to the big city of Columbus to buy school clothes. I know there are more; I just need to take the time to unearth them.

So I’ve decided to spend more time thinking about the fun and innocence of my early life. Because even if I can’t go back physically, I can go back in my memories. And as each memory returns, I’ll find a more complete picture. And more joy. And, so, I begin. My return to Toyland. As often as I can.