Editorial Note: Originally published on 2012/02/17.
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Colin receives all of the accolades.

Last week, I was on course for work. When introducing ourselves, we were asked to name our hobbies. After I listed approximately 32 items, one of my fellow classmates shared that he collected toys. Specifically, they are toys from the 80s.

A few days later, I was still thinking about this revelation and too eager to contain my excitement.

Did he collect Care Bears?
Fraggles?
Plush unicorns?
Cabbage Patch Kids?
My Little Ponies?
Glow Worms?
Rainbow Brites?

“DOES YOUR ROOM SMELL LIKE STRAWBERRY SHORTCAKE?”
“CAN I COME OVER AND PLAY?” I kept wanting to yell across the classroom, with painful hysteria.

But I am a supposed adult, and so I instead bottled everything in and sat on my excitement for three terrifying days wherein I became increasingly depressed because I do not like to colour between the lines. Then Wednesday happened.

He sat next to me for lunch and I nearly stabbed him with my soup spoon, so excited was I and scared and curious and mad all rolled into a ball of volcanic energy. How volcanic? I shook and spilled my soup with excitement. I may have missed my mouth a few times, too.

When opportunity presented itself, I casually introduced the topic and I sounded a little something like:

“Do you think they’re going to bomb Iran?”
“Mmmmm….I don’t know. WHAT KIND OF TOYS DO YOU COLLECT?” spill soup, spill soup, spill soup.
“80s toys.”
“YOU SAID THAT ALREADY!! I HEARD YOU THE FIRST TIME IN CLASS!! BUT WHAT KIND!!!!!”
“Transformers.”
“Oh.”
“If I were to come over. Or, if you were to have your friends come over, would you let them and me play with them? Or are they on a shelf behind plastic?”
“They’re mostly collectors items, so I don’t really play with them.”
“BUT THEY’RE TOYS AND EVERYONE KNOWS WE ARE MEANT TO PLAY WITH TOYS!! LIKE, YOU DON’T LOOK AT AN APPLE AND NOT EAT IT DO YOU?!”
“They’re collectors items.”
“BUT YOU CALLED THEM TOYS!!”
“Right. So back to Iran.”
“I AM REALLY UPSET AND SAD NOW. I ALSO DON’T THINK IRAN HAS TOYS.”
Soup spill. Soup spill. Soup spill.

“I COLLECT BOARD GAMES. For my friends, of course. When they come over, I ask them if they want to play board games.”
“Oh yeah?”
“Yeah. It’s fun. I have a lot of games. But I am trying to find the original Battle Ship. All of the new ones are electronic and they confuse me because they blink a lot. But I can’t find an old one.”
“Mmmhmmm.”

And so the conversation trailed off and I cleaned up my soup, a little saddened that Colin didn’t have toys with which I could in fact play.

Cut to next day lunch, when Colin walks over and says “I have a surprise for you,” and out from his man bag he pulls a traditional Battle Ship game.

He had gone to a sacriligeous store in which people chuck “old” things, many of which are toys. He went to look for a Battle Ship. For me. Just for me.

And he found it, and he bought it, and he gifted it.

For no other reason than because: Colin is a nice man. A thoughtful, kind, sweet man, well raised by his momma.

Thank you to all of the Colins of this world. You are appreciated beyond measure, and you raise the bar. Thank you. Thank you and thank you for the soup spill. Soup spill. Soup spill. Soup spill.

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