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G.I. Joe
By Scott Harrup | May 1, 2009
Ron Kopczick, the Evangel’s promotions coordinator, and I were having a random conversation this morning about the G.I. Joes we owned as kids. The conversation went something along the lines of …
“Yeah, I had Set A that came with Pieces B, C, and D.”
“Really? Well, I had Set B that came with Pieces E, F, and G.”
Long pause.
“Do you realize what they would have been worth to a collector today?”
“I know …”
Had you been here, you would have heard our mutual wistful sigh over our lost childhoods and our lost cash.
A few years back, my brother-in-law sold a rediscovered G.I. Joe for several hundred dollars. He could have collected twice as much if he’d only kept the original box. But no one would have wanted to buy my well-used childhood action figure. My brother Blake and I each took a G.I. Joe with us to Africa. As I remember, we creatively named Blake’s “Jim” to help distinguish our plastic alter egos during staged outdoor dramas. These included firecrackers of varying strength to simulate gunfire or grenade attacks. At some point the firecrackers became attached to the Joes, resulting in injuries unacceptable to any collector.
But before their demise, we had a lot of fun with Joe and “Jim.” Mom even got on board and sewed to-scale martial arts uniforms for us when Dad bought us a book on judo. We’d pose the manikins in the process of making an elaborate over-the-shoulder throw. I suspect Mom’s secret motive was to encourage Blake and me to throw those action figures around instead of each other.
My conversation with Ron was still fresh in my mind when I ran across a New York Times obituary this morning. The April 30 obit noted the April 24 passing of Irving D. Chais, 83, of Manhattan. For 45 years Chais was the owner and chief “surgeon” of the New York Doll Hospital. You can read about him here. I suspect Chais and his team mended their share of G.I. Joes marred by firecrackers and other abuses meted out by now-repentant sentimental adults.
G.I. Joe ponderings are pretty random, even for my disconnected brain cells. But I also see a theme. Sure, I could have collected some serious cash had I kept that bearded doll (there, I said it — doll) in mint condition. But I’d have lost so much else. Finding happiness demands that you get out and really live, even when it causes wear and tear and expense. That translates into things like marriage and parenting and friendship.
Go ahead. Splurge a few hard-earned dollars and scarce hours of free time on your spouse or child or loved one. Your retirement fund’s been losing money the past year or so anyway. Grab hold of the moment so that years from now you’ll have more than life’s mint-condition “original boxes” to stare at.
Topics: Family Life |
