This is one of those weeks when a national tragedy makes me yearn for the simper days.  I found myself in my closet looking at my treasured possessions of childhood.

When I was a kid, merchandising wasn't the phenomenal beast it is today.  I loved Batgirl, but since there were no Batgirl dolls that I could find, I got a small, black, plastic toy motorcycle at K-Mart and pretended she was riding it.  I loved that cheap thing because in my mind, it represented Batgirl.  Back then, imagination replaced the dearth of merchandise.  The 'Batgirl motorcycle' must have eventually become garage sale fodder, because it's not in my closet.  But then, only the very dearest of toys have made it into the little shrine in my closet.  

Here is my Most Valued Possession.

"What is it?" some of you are asking.  Others are wondering, "Isn't that the gadget that enabled you to play 45's on a turntable?"  Maybe to you.

But to me, it was my "communicator".  

My dad worked three jobs back then and went to school.  The only time I would see him was late at night and late at night was when the local TV station would play Star Trek reruns.  It was my favorite time of my day, laying in bed with my parent, watching Star Trek.  I've already mentioned in another blog entry that I did, in fact, have the Enterprise play set.  But guess what.  I don't know where it is.  Garage sale fodder just like the Batgirl motorcycle.  So why do I still have my "communicator"?

Because it was magical.  The play set was a toy.  But the communicator was a portal.  I held it in my little hand and it was silent, but as soon as I held in that little switch on the side, I had direct access to the people in my starship.  Magic.

I guess I've held on to it for so long because there's a part of me that still believes it works.  Or wishes it would.  That on the other side of the communicator there's still a nice, safe starship with wise people inside who can give us some good advice and tell us how to get out of the jams we run into on this dangerous planet.

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