This is Dollar Don. He’s a man who deals in sentiment but can’t afford to be sentimental.
“What do you got?” He looks at my Tonka trucks, lips pursed, eyes measuring, estimating value.
When I was about six, I got three Mighty Tonka trucks. Big, tough, “Made with Steel!” the boxes boasted. I played with them in the backyard, but because I was somewhat meticulous at that age, I would also wash them down and then store them in the boxes they came in, like real trucks in a garage.
When I went off to school, my folks stored them in the attic. When I rediscovered them, the boxes were pretty beat up, but the trucks were in good shape. I thought maybe my grandkids might like them, but toy trucks are today’s versions of tin soldiers…toys of yesteryear. No electricity, and the only noise they make is the kind little kids provide: “Brrrrrrrrrmmm!!”
I should keep them—maybe they’ll want them someday, but…
I heard a man who dealt in classic cars say, “Jeff, men buy memories. If they drove it in high school, they wanna buy it today. If it was made before they were born, they are no longer interested.”
Cars that were made prior to 1950 have no one interested in purchasing them anymore.
I did the math and realized that my Tonka trucks are on a similar path. I can keep them, only to have a future generation throw them away, or perhaps someone will see these trucks and their eyes will light up like mine did 60 years ago.
“Oh, I remember these!”
Dollar Don goes to craft fairs and trade shows, looking for those people. The ones fishing for memories.
We strike a deal. Don gives me 180 bucks in cash, and the six-year-old boy in me heaves a sigh and gives him the toys.
Oh well.
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