“I have bad news.”
At that, I looked up to find my 20 year old son walking slowly into the kitchen, cupping his hands around something. He approached me and opened his hands to reveal the treasure inside: a tri-color fidget spinner, with one corner snapped off. It only took a second to recognize this particular toy out of all of the other ones he had collected over the years.
I was instantly brought back to an afternoon in 2017. The fidget spinner craze was in full swing, and Joey begged me to find him one. We set off on what felt like a hopeless scavenger hunt. Target was sold out. Walmart was sold out. The mall kiosks had signs saying they were out of stock. By the time we pulled into Walgreens, I was mostly stopping so I could tell him we’d tried everywhere.
And there they were: a small box of tri-color fidget spinners sitting by the register. I told him to pick the one he wanted, and he instead took 4 out of the box, announcing that he couldn’t get one without also getting one for each of his siblings.
He has the most generous heart.
When we left the store he hugged me fiercely, thanking me for finding the toys. He held them triumphantly all the way home, and proudly presented them to his brothers and sister. It went to school with him the next day – and even made it home! – and never left the place of honor on his desk.
I snapped out of the memory to meet Joey’s eyes, my grown son standing in front of me, holding that precious toy with all the reverence the memory deserved. He looked at the broken spinner and then at me, tentative hope brimming in his eyes.
“Can you fix it?”
I started to say “I don’t know, Joe, it’s 9 years old and …” The look on his face stopped me.
“I can fix it. I promise.”
Superglue can fix most anything, after all.
It’s back on his desk.
