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Like most children, I had my own collection of Lego. Not a lot, but enough to build a small house and an economy sized car.

I can still remember my Father walking barefoot across the living room. He would suddenly stop with a brief wince. Then, lifting his foot he would reach out his arm and proceed to remove a Lego piece from between his toes. As he handed me the offending Lego piece, the look on his face conveyed one message:

Death to Lego.

By the time that my sister was old enough to play with Lego he had enough practice from picking up stray Lego pieces that he could effortlessly bend the afflicted leg up in front of of him crossways in what looked to me like a ‘plié.’ With the balance and poise of a ballerina, he was able to hold this pose until his fingers plucked the Lego out of his foot.

Once he started having grandchildren he never complained about their Lego being all over his living room rug.

I’m sure that the Lego pieces hurt him just the same when he stepped on them.

I could tell this by his momentary wince.

After that, my Father was all smiles again.

Of course, my own daughters had Lego collections of their own.

You could not walk into my eldest daughter’s bedroom without stepping on one.

The Legos never broke. Instead, they would imbed themselves into your tender flesh. More than once, they have brought tears to my eyes.

By the time my second daughter was old enough for Lego, we had collected enough Lego to fill a shoebox. We also learned the importance of storing them properly and keeping them away from their Mother’s feet.

When my youngest finally outgrew them, I packed the Lego away with a happy sigh.

Never again will I have to deal with these plastic tidbits between my toes.

No more stepping on them.

No more tears.

After twenty years of my floors being…

“Lego free,”

…the time came a little over a month ago when my youngest daughter flew in from Winnipeg, to begin the final preparations to her wedding in September, which she and her fiancée decided will have a Lego theme.

When she showed me some of her plans, I retrieved the pail of Legos, which was stored upstairs.

After my daughter sifted through them, she decided that yes, they would be suitable for her wedding projects.

After packing them them up, she informed me that she was off to visit her prospective new Mother-In-Law, and show off her Lego projects.

Shortly after she left, I got up to head towards the kitchen.

By my third step, I suddenly stopped as my back stiffened. I had just experienced a sharp burst of pain from my underside of my foot. I didn’t have to look, I already knew what the problem was.

Yet another piece of Lego had managed to find it’s way between my toes.


And at that moment, I could almost hear a child’s voice from somewhere inside my brain telling me….

“They’re ba-aaack!”

In closing, I will leave you with this annoying little sound byte courtesy of Pink Floyd and my love for silly rhymes…

And it goes:

“All in all…

They’re just…

Lego bricks on the sprawl.”