Ouch! Not Another Lego!

Midnight. The house is quiet, children are sleeping, pets are sprawled out and snoring, the house is dark and tranquil. "Ouch!" followed by a fury of words I won't repeat, snaps through the still air. Another Lego block has cunningly found my bare foot. Why do I keep buying these things? After the hopping stops and I rub my foot, I remind myself that these little booby-traps are, well . . . needed. I tell myself to suck it up, put the block in the bucket and just let it go.

Lego’s - the bane of parents everywhere and one of the most loved toys of children. We started with the big blocks (were they softer on the feet?), but soon went for the smaller version. Every one of our children loved to build. They built the item on the cover, then a few days later, would tear it down and design their own contraptions. My best friend, Carol, had already raised her boys and had a massive bucket of Lego blocks to donate to my kids (how many did she step on?). We had thousands and many more were bought almost routinely. Christopher was the first to enjoy these sneaky little blocks. They exposed his creative side, his need to build, and even improved his reading skills. The directions for building are always in both written and diagram form, allowing a child to work through the schematics and be triumphant in completion.

It was only normal for Matt to fall in love with them too. It started simply enough; Matt lining- up his cars, glancing toward his brother out of the corners of his eyes, observing Christopher sifting through blocks to create castles. Christopher would occasionally ask him to hand him a specific Lego. Confused at first as to what his brother wanted, Christopher would describe it again, and eventually crawl toward the block he wanted and pluck it from the pile. Matt learned by observation and finally understood the repeated requests. He would watch his brother snap and place; decide on a block, snap and place. It was methodical and creative - the finished product a recognizable masterpiece of the childhood imagination. Soon after, Matt picked up a Lego, and gave it to his brother. This was soon followed by attempting the snap - together process himself. Before long, both were immersed in the joy of Lego blocks - the building had begun.

In the beginning, Matt built trains (of course). He would dig and dig through the bucket for each piece. No instructions, no diagrams needed. Experimentation and observation allowed him to see how something was constructed in his mind. The pictures in his head must have become very complex, as it was during this time that his drawings took on a complexity and detail not seen in children his age.

The search for the right piece always followed the same sequence of events. 1-Plucking the first block from the bucket. 2-Digging. 3-Dumping. 4-The hand-off. 5-Completion.

Plucking the first block from the bucket

Most of the time the first block was found quite readily. Usually, the architectural design required a base-plate and these were fairly large and easy to find. It was the next few blocks that always seemed to be elusive, and thus initiated the digging.

Digging

The more blocks placed, the harder it seemed to find the next one, and the digging in earnest began. The sound of displacing Lego blocks is easily recognizable - a high "chink-chink" sound that could be heard throughout the house. Depending on the size of the project, the "chink-chink" could last up to an hour. Frustration and determination could only be bore so long before a new sound emanated from their room - the inevitable dumping of the bucket.

Dumping

The new sound was like the crashing of glass on the floor, but not as high pitched. Once the bucket was dumped, the Lego blocks were spread across the floor in a semi-thin, easier to hunt through, layer. We're talking thousands of blocks here. The spreading across the floor literally covered every available bit of floor space, trapping each child in their own small area, and thus, the need for the hand-off.

The Hand-off

The teamwork and communication exchange was my favorite part. Christopher would ask for a piece, Matt would hand it to him. Scanning the floor, he would ask for another piece but Matt would inevitably need that specific piece too and would reach it first and place it on his own masterpiece. This would cause a "Hey, I wanted that one!" from Christopher and a laugh would erupt from Matt. Another race to a piece, "Ha! Got it!" from Christopher and another laugh from Matt. Christopher intuitively knew how to make Matt laugh each time. His comments were always in a "fun" voice, never harsh or condemning.

In the later years, when Matt was capable of words, the exchange would go both directions. Matt would grab up a piece and shout, "Ha!" and Christopher would feign disgust, "AGGGH!" When Christopher retrieved that long sought after piece first, Matt would feign disgust, and Christopher would giggle to himself. It was an intricately choreographed dance of wits.

Building design evolved rapidly. As I stated before, the first projects were simple trains, but that didn't last long. More elaborate trains soon appeared. Hours upon hours of Lego building. Both boys could sit in the same room, hunting for pieces, interspersed with the occasional request (and sometimes denial) for far-flung pieces. They appeared to move together like a well oiled machine, handing off blocks, sifting, handing off blocks. It was really quite amazing, this comfortable bond between them. Eventually, as skills improved, the desire to make new and larger objects (planes, ships, towers, castles) grew. Every Christmas and birthday brought a request for more Lego kits.

The bucket slowly filled to a heaping rounded mound. This was no ordinary bucket. This bucket was a king-size, rope-handled, monstrosity that could hold 2 small children if needed. Get the idea? Thousands of Lego blocks, absolutely thousands.

New kits became available for trains, but most of the time the price tag was beyond our financial capabilities. Matt would have to use the pictures on the pamphlets to make the objects from the blocks he had. Small kits that were purchased, which came with instructions, intensified his desire to do it exactly right - the need to be perfect was absolutely intense. He studied, he tried, occasionally failed (but only when he was a newbie), tried again. Eventually, Matt became the Lego Master (not to take away from Christopher's title of Lego Ninja). Jacob and Sarah would play on occasion, but they were not addicted and could turn their attention to other games and activities. Christopher could put them down to do something else for only a short time - he needed to return to complete the job eventually. Matt couldn't walk away.

When a task began he had to see it to completion and his hands whirled and twisted and darted out and back, picking up blocks and placing them just right. He could open a new kit of moderate size, pour out the blocks, open the instructions and complete the kit in 5 minutes. FIVE MINUTES! On the occasions where we could afford the extravagance of a large kit, it would take him maybe 6. Returning from shopping, Matt would hurriedly walk to his room and emerge with the completed project triumphant in his hands before I was finished putting groceries away.

Happy and proud of his accomplishment he would then hide the completed train, ship, plane or car in a dresser drawer he reserved for such treasures. The drawer filled up and another drawer was readied (by tossing all his clothes on the floor). He hid them from the Lego Ninja, obviously he wanted to make sure they would not be taken apart and used for other projects. Many of Matt's constructions used Lego’s from breaking down Lego Ninja's collection (and yes, of course it pissed him off, but he dealt with it, and for that we were truly grateful!).

Ah yes, Lego blocks. Simple little blocks that taught interaction, manual dexterity, reading skills and the deciphering of schematics. It enhanced creative play and required rigorous precision. It provided the venue for the bonding of brothers. Lego blocks initiated the slow demise for the lining up of toys. It help minimize hand flapping -allowing it to commence only during the scanning of the Lego’s spread across the floor. Matt's hands became much too busy plucking, snapping, sifting, and digging, to flap. I watched Matt mimic normal behavior and got a glimpse of his desire to emerge from beneath his autistic exterior.

The years have gone by and Lego blocks have been stored away. Rooms have been remodeled, even new floors put down. Yet, in the middle of the night, about a year ago or so, I walked quietly down the hall in my bare feet and . . . you guessed it, stepped on a Lego. One of the cats probably found it in the recesses of some dark corner and batted it into the hallway (or had it been hiding away biding its time until I least expected it and set a trap?).

Either way, when I think of Lego blocks I think of the look of intense concentration, the whir of hands, the sounds of laughter, and the smile of a child triumphant. Lego’s - are they painful to the unsuspecting foot? Yes!

Still . . . .you gotta love’m.