“Hello, my name is Ken…and I’m a collector.”
For as long as I can remember, I have enjoyed collecting whatever strikes my fancy. There’s an almost euphoric feeling I experience while amassing a number of items that I can then enjoy by either playing with them as a child, displaying them as an adult, or sharing them with my fellow collectors.
The Lady Friend, who is a self-proclaimed “minimalist”, is not a collector of anything outside of books and even those sit clearly out of sight on her tablet in digital form. On several occasions she’s tried to get inside the mindset of a collector by either asking me various questions or simply disappearing into a rabbit hole as she researches the psychology of my ilk. This took me down my own rabbit hole as I began to explore not only why I collect but how it all started.
One of my favorite aspects of reading comic books as a kid was whenever a superhero’s or superheroine’s origin story would be revealed. I loved discovering the building blocks that established the foundation of these fictional characters that absolutely fascinated me — correction, continue to fascinate me. This, in turn, made me want to explore my own origin story as…Captain Collector? The Garnerer of Goods? The Amasser of Assets? Hmm. let’s just revisit me taking on a superhero name when I’m asked to join the Justice League of America.
Despite being raised Catholic, I truly felt my first connection with religion when I sat in the Metro North Mall as a six-year old child and saw “Star Wars” for the very first time. Little did I know that as I heard the 20th Century fanfare and read the words “A long time ago in a galaxy far, far away….” that my origin story was truly beginning. I had walked into that movie theatre a wide-eyed kid and, two hours later, walked out reborn…as a life-long collector.
When the Kenner figures and toys began dropping, I didn’t just want them…something inside my brain told me that I physically NEEDED them. This was the first of many, many times that an all-encompassing yearning to possess something began coursing through my veins. Having been raised with the edict that you need to work hard in order to get something you want, I quickly began mowing yards in my neighborhood for $7.34 no matter the size of the lawn. And why $7.34? That was the price — with tax! — for two Kenner Star Wars figures at the local shops. With each job I booked, I would spend the entire time thinking through which two figures I would be adding to my ever-growing collection. Christmas and my birthday in January were reserved for asking for the big ticket items like the Millennium Falcon, the Death Star playset, etc. These inanimate objects became my portal into a universe that existed inside my imagination and allowed me to stage elaborate sessions of heroic adventures. My folks were happy as I would be out of their hair for hours upon end. The weight of their happiness, however, didn’t compare to the metric tons of pure joy I was experiencing. Eventually that youthful giddiness became a part of my DNA.
Years passed and I’d find that happiness within other collections — comic books, autographs, VHS tapes (and then DVDs and then BluRays!), promo glasses, t-shirts, statues, Funko Pop!s, etc. Each acquisition of an item elicits varying levels of that same nirvana I felt as a young child when getting my hands on a new Star Wars figure after working for it.
Sure, I don’t mow lawns for figures any more but the same principles are still intact — work hard, play hard. I reward myself with items that many others would find silly or frivolous. To me, however, they are a connection to yesteryear when it would have taken corrective surgery to remove the smile from my face from how delighted these various items made me feel.
The Lady Friend often describes me as “a genuinely happy person”. For the most part, this is true. Thanks to two incredibly loving and supportive parents, my childhood established a fun-loving baseline that I’ve carried with me throughout my life. In a way, I guess I could look upon all the items that I collect as somewhat of a shrine to the wonderful childhood that I was gifted by those two. Fortunately the only sacrifice I have to continually make at that altar is shelf- and wall-space but that’s a price I’m willing to pay for this lifetime supply of joy.
Thanks, Mom. Thanks, Dad.
Even though you are both gone now, you still live on in the form of a child trapped in a middle-aged man’s body that still finds happiness in this world by adhering to the lessons you instilled in your freckle-faced “Super Kid”. I’ve always known how to work hard, it’s just nice that I’m able to play hard as well…and, damn, you should see some of the toys they have out now.
This is why I collect.
