His apartment was more like a warehouse. It was filled to capacity with glassware and china figurines, record albums and books, some signed by the authors, most not. There were coin collections and stamp collections and stuffed animals won at fairs and old McDonald’s Happy Meal toys. And in little boxes stored in the back of a small closet were toy cars gathered over a lifetime of collecting.
Looked at in parts, separated into individual boxes, the mix of Matchbox, Hot Wheel and other tiny cars didn’t seem particularly special. But when they were all gathered together and sorted by color, the display was quite special. I choose to believe that he could imagine them this way. And I’d like to think it would have made him smile to know his daughter was taking such care to properly prepare his collection of colorful toy cars.
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