It’s always sad to see that children are displaced by the circumstances in their parents’ lives, and nothing evidences this displacement more than the presence of toys.
Toys in a foreclosed home provide perhaps the oddest juxtaposition of messages. The original joy-inducing intent is still there: the doll still smiles, the cars can still zoom across the floor, and the robot is still ready for action. Yet the toys are now out of their element, far from the playful hands of their end users. They become sad reminders amid the rubble of a bad situation. The toys even take on a dilapidated, forlorn quality. They have become grubby remnants of a childhood that has, at least in part, been lost.
Leaving the toys behind is leaving a part of childhood behind, too. It’s time for a new home and a new start, and the hope that everybody’s a little older, a little wiser.