My son is 4 years old, and he has a lot of toys.
Truth be told, so does his father.
I've been a "Star Wars" collector since I was 7. I vividly remember that my first SW-related collectible was a coloring set that came with a fistful of multicolored markers, which I received one day before I saw the first film at the Fox Plaza Theater in Staten Island in 1977. I still recall coloring in an oversized line drawing of Darth Vader and Obi-Wan Kenobi that evening, just before my aunt and I left to go see the movie.
In the years since, I've amassed, by most people's definition, a pretty respectable collection of various items. Which is to say I have, by most non-collectors' standards, too much stuff.
Years ago while I was doing a brief stint as city editor at the New York edition of Metro, I decided to donate some extra items from my collection to the office's Toys for Tots drive. For the uninitiated, Toys for Tots is a wonderful charitable effort organized by the U.S. Marine Corps Reserve that collects new, unopened toys and distributes them to children in need during the holiday season.
While going through my collection, one of the toys I came across was a 3-pack of figures that I didn't necessarily need, so that went in the "donate" pile. (One does not simply part with any of the most prized pieces in one's collection on a whim, you see.) The next day I brought in a good-sized bag of items to give to Toys for Tots, marking the first time I'd donated actual toys and not money—and then I essentially forgot about it.
About two weeks later we sent a photographer out to a photo op at a women's shelter in Manhattan, where some of the toys our office had donated had ended up. I was scanning through the photos to pick out good ones to run in the next day's paper—and I froze.
A little boy at the shelter, probably no more than 4 or 5, was pictured showing one of the most incredible expressions of pure joy I've seen to this day.
Grasping, with both hands, the 3-pack of figures I'd tossed in the bag.
I don't mind telling you that I welled up on the spot. I'm choked up as I write this, just thinking about it.
That child taught me a priceless lesson about how an empty heart takes so little to fill.
Last year, my son and I started an annual tradition of going through my collection and deciding what we can give to kids who have nothing, buying some additional toys, and delivering the lot together to one of Toys for Tots' drop-off points. In relating to him why any sane, toy-loving person would do such a thing, which at first he didn't understand, I got down to his level and said to him, "Declan, imagine having no toys at all, and no toys at Christmas. Imagine how sad that would be."
He was instantly on board, and every year until I'm gone we'll do what we can each holiday season, together, so that fewer less-fortunate children will have to face such a stark reality.
In next month's issue, we'll be shining a light on many of the lives changed by the charitable work of insurance industry, which very rarely gets the credit it deserves for its philanthropic efforts. In the meantime, National Underwriter Property & Casualty is proud to join the efforts of the U.S. Marine Corps Reserve's Toys for Tots program, and will be collecting new, unopened toys at the New York office of our parent company, Summit Professional Networks. We encourage our readers throughout this great country to do the same in their own towns.
We'll share images of our efforts on PC360.com, and I encourage you to email me and do the same. Perhaps we can even learn where some of the toys have gone, so we can share in the joy of making a child's holiday brighter.
But even if that proves elusive, we'll know that somewhere, we made a difference.
If just for one day.
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