Leggo my Lego.

It's a matter of occupational hazard that over the twenty-six years of my teaching career I have amassed quite a substantial Lego collection. My new, grown-up-sized classroom has shelves lined with large Rubbermaids, filled to the brim with a zillion different pieces.

Children (and adults) around the world spend an estimated sixty-five million hours a year constructing and deconstructing countless spaceships, monsters, cars, trains. In our class... Amsterdam row-house cityscapes and Harry Potter panoramas.

There are five Lego pieces for every person on the planet... and as I have already admitted, I have more than my fair share.

I'm petrified by the thought that one day I might arrive at school one morning,
sleepily clutching my coffee, and unlock the gate to find thousands
of people lined up waiting to get their five.

Play with Legos involves all the "building blocks" (pun very much- and shamelessly- intended) of education: one-to-one correspondence, seriation, classification, and matching. Okay, okay... it doesn't have the conservation of materials, but four out of five ain't bad!

I am a person that by all accounts is afflicted with at least two mental disorders: the collecting bug, and OCD organizational skills.

I said "at least", so watch it!

It appeals to the latter of these that I get to involve the children in helping sort them by the different colors and shapes... and those cool clear plastic boxes with the dividers are filled with the little people, and all the hats, outfits and accouterments needed to populate these imaginary worlds we create.

And oh, the people.

Actually...  the accepted vernacular is "Minifigs". A hardcover book that I do not yet have, (hint, hint) just came out this past Christmas season delineating the history of the many knights, adventurers, skaters, and space critters that have come to life in the Legoscape over the years.

There is, understandably, a purist standard that has developed in our classroom's Lego kingdom.

Those doppelgangers of the play brick world: Mega Blocks, Tycos, and others of their ilk are not tolerated under any circumstances. We call them "Flegos", short for Fake-Legos. The word Flego is always said in the same manner Seinfeld characters are prone to say: "Newman".

Unfortunately, this half-joking chauvinism had unintended, and unforeseen consequences. A mother came to me after the holiday season "thanking" me for indoctrinating her son in this manner. Seems that when presented with a generous gift of a large "Pirates of the Caribbean" Mega Block set as a gift by Aunt and Uncle he threw the box down with a sneer and said' "I don't want these! They're FLEGOS!" :) 

I still deposit the occasional Flego interloper into the recycling bin... only now with the disclaimer, "but if someone should ever give you some as a gift... be sure to smile and say THANK YOU!"

Luckily for me, it seems that Legos are recession-proof.

Needing some cash for the associated costs that come with moving into our new place, I have been selling a few of my much loved Minifigs on ebay... and just a few of them have brought eye-popping final bids. This bodes well for my future, as the eventual sale of the collection in it's entirety is the whole of my retirement planning.

Being a rock and roll Childcare Teacher, while admittedly glamorous, is notoriously low paying.

Well, I guess there are a lot of reasons I give up so much of my treasured shelf space to just one kind of toy. You've heard of the giant whirlpool of bits of plastic swirling around out in the Pacific ocean? I bet almost none of them are Legos.

Don't even get me started on Bionicles.