*warning – the following post makes references to the HBO TV show ‘Game of Thrones’. You probably do not want to read it if you have not seen all of Season One, more specifically episode nine.
Lego has begun to make an appearance in our house and along with it, a flood of childhood memories. I once owned a castle with turrets and a wind-up drawbridge. I ruled over mountains and seas with the might typical of seven year old girls.
I’ve occasionally caught glimpses of my old Lego set in the spare-room at mum’s house. An old grey helmet here, an armoured torso there. “When do they get into Lego?” – I’d ask. I’d be lying if I said I haven’t waited for this day.
It was only while attempting to set up one of seven kingdoms and a small army of the Night’s Watch that I began to sense change. As several pieces of Lego began to hurtle towards my 16-month-old daughter’s head, I realised I was no longer king.
I do not like the current regime. The new king can be cruel and unforgiving. He lures his sister with affection before banishing her to The Wall. He will not share horses and my men are often forced to ride on sheep. He wishes to pulverize the castle courtyard I have lovingly maintained with matchbox cars and he is bossy – “Build me this”. Build me that”. Do I look like the hand of the King? Probably – and that never ends well.
Sometimes I concede defeat and the Lego is placed beneath the King’s bed. Just before the dust starts to gather the King will move on and I find myself asking him “Would you like to build a castle?”. After all, sheep aren’t so bad. They have exceptionally good hearing and excellent peripheral vision.
Did you love Lego as a child?