Skateboarding Dude

 

Jasper’s collects the Lego mini figures. In fact he collects all sorts. This is why boys need pockets (and their mothers carry around bags with bits of Lego floating about in them) and when vacuuming there is the telltale rattle of a small something being sucked into the bag. Boys hoard. He has a crazy bone collection. He has football cards. He has a pile of rocks, a bucket of seashells, a booty of stick guns, a menagerie of plastic animals, a tall boy covered in stuffed toys and a “car drawer” filled with many, many Hot Wheels.

He has always liked figures that he can hold and play a make-believe game with. This is why the superhero guys were such a big hit. He has Superman, Batman, Green Lantern, Silver Surfer, Iron Man, Bad Iron man, Spider man, Bad Spider man, The Hulk, Flash and a few Wolverines. I could have left someone out. They are battle damaged, hardened through years of heavy playing. They have travelled up North, down South, across oceans in airplanes to distant lands. A favourite Batman has red splotches painted on him in an attempt to mimic blood. He has been through the wars. His cape is torn.

A new guy might give him many hours of satisfying play. Gradually the game will grow tired and the man stored away in the “man drawer.” But he is just resting awhile. Awaiting a new adversary. A new adventure.

The Lego skateboarding dude has a different head when he arrives in the mail with the catalogue. Black rimmed glasses? He looks neither dudish or cool till he is sourced a new head with the appropriate hipster beard. Hoody zipper half undone to reveal black T shirt. Beanie.  Better, says Jasper. Let’s skate.

 

 

 

 

About Nicole Lobry de Bruyn

Born in the psychedelic sixties to hard working and conservative parents my sister and I grew up in sleepy suburban Perth, Western Australia. We played by the river, the beach and in the bushland of the cementary. I loved a chocolate Dachshund enough to make me want to become a veterinarian. I did. I became paralysed from the waist down when car hit tree. But not running, walking, standing or kneeling didn't prevent me being a vet. I am still a vet but would prefer to write and read and read and write about walking and not walking, feeling and not feeling, knowing and not knowing. So this is what happens when you enter thechookhouse.
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