While rummaging through some cabinets recently, I stumbled upon our son’s teddy bear, his favorite toy from many decades ago. Tattered, ripped, and well-worn, that bear had been a part of him. Where he went, the bear went too. There are so many precious memories. That bear is our only keepsake of his early years. There were other toys, but none as important as this. He and the bear were one.

As I reminisced about that bear, I thought of my toys in life, and it slowly became clear to me that toys have always been in my life. The only difference is that the toys of my youth were called toys, whereas my later toys were not. Perhaps we should be more honest in admitting our toys; doing that might help us understand why we have them.

Childhood toys that I had were those to help me imitate adults: cowboys in the movies had fancy holsters and pistols, and so had I; soldiers wore helmets and canteens, so that became another outfit. Being a Boy Scout sent me buying official merchandise with the BSA insignia; anything else (to me) was an imitation.

What all those toys had in common was the ability to let me experience a different lifestyle without interfering with the life I was leading. I wasn’t a cowboy, yet I could pretend to be. Nor was I a soldier, yet I was able to envision such a role. Being a Boy Scout let me experience the out-of-doors, although I remained what you might call a ‘city boy.’ I found adult toys to be different. Let me explain.

My first adult toy was a motorcycle, and it consumed me. Yes, I became the motorcycle; the motorcycle became me. That was my identity, and it was always with the motorcycle that I presented myself to the world. In later years, it was an MG sports car, followed by a Corvette. Owning a Corvette set me apart from mere mortals. If you were to meet me, the Corvette would enter the conversation within minutes. I needed you to know. If you didn’t know I had a Corvette, then owning the car was meaningless. Check any social media site with user profile photos, and you will see them: photos of the person with his/her beloved adult toy. One does not exist without the other.

Are you getting my drift here? As adults, we seek an identity for ourselves, and buying one is the simple solution. An associate of mine, who was nearing retirement, bought a new lifestyle in one day: a new motorcycle, a new jacket with a motorcycle name on it, new pants with a motorcycle name on them, a new helmet with a motorcycle name on it, and he was good to go. While not so extreme, I did find my way back to motorcycles, which were truly my first love. I even authored a book on my rides (The Bikes and I) that shared many rides throughout Upstate New York back roads.

Although I treasure those memories, life always moves on. Now, in my 80s, I no longer see ownership of a toy as something to define me. I am more complex than any such item, and I would resent any attempt to pigeonhole me into any such alliance. Maybe I have finally reached maturity. My dear spouse has suggested that I might enjoy a Mustang, a Camaro, or maybe even a Maserati, for fun. There was such a time, but no longer; time with her trumps having a toy. We discover what is important only late in life, but we must discover it.