Legos

The word comes from a Danish phrase that means “play well.”

None of us is thinking about that when we are searching through the pieces on Sunday afternoon looking for the one piece that has been separated from the At-At.

We built the commoditized dream from George Lucas’s head a year ago and in the intervening days it’s been played with, knocked around, and been part of galactic showdowns between the boys. It has also slowly disintegrated before our eyes. Doors came off. The nose where the operator should sit went missing. What was 4 legs became just 3. A foot couldn’t be found.

Most people would’ve looked at it and said it’s useless. There’s no way to put it back together. But in the shut down — our new reality — I reasoned, why not? The 8 year-old was interested. And it’s lovely when he sees things reconstructed. The promise of his smile alone made the challenge worthwhile.

So I’ve been slowly trying to put it back together for weeks.

The first thing I found was the foot. I was lucky because it was discovered whole among the thousands of blocks we have. All I had to do was put it on.

The leg was another matter. It required hours of searching for the long pieces that made the femur and shin; the pins and joints that created a knee. I tried to assemble it by just looking at the other already attached legs, but it proved too difficult and I had to look the instructions up online.

Slowly, carefully, I was able to find the puzzle pieces and then, one morning, it was a standing At-At again.

Still skeletal, of course. Still unfinished.

But up it went, and the boy jumped and whooped and started a new fantasy battle with it right away.

Now I am determined to finish it. To restore it what it once was.

Yes, this is crazy. I don’t care.

In the re-habilitation of the old, it’ll be something new.

Of course, looking it on the table — missing it’s armor plating so the insides are exposed, so it looks as fragile as it looks formidable — the metaphor it represents for this moment in time does not escape me.

It will likely never be the same. But I already see ways we will improvise on it, find new things to add to it that George Lucas didn’t think of. No, it’ll never look the same, but the boy’s smile will be just as big when we find the new shape of it. Maybe bigger because while it will be built around the bones we know, it will be something we have never seen before, too.