On the trip home from Spain earlier this summer, we used our remaindered euros to buy a Mini Pod LEGO set for Ian. It was a small sports car, green and black, either from hell or a distant apocalyptic future where the dregs of humanity are fighting to overthrow the tyrannic oppression of our robotic and/or undead overlords.
Ian’s experiences with LEGOs have been accidental and haphazard. Experiments in geometrical stream-of-consciousness. LEGOs were physical manifestations of his imagination only as far as he needed them to be; function in lieu of aesthetics. A few 4×4 blocks were a battery, a car, a rocket, and a tree, sometimes in succession, sometimes simultaneously.
If he wanted a train that looked like a train, he had me. I had the instructions.
I don’t know if the Transformers helped bridge the gap, but Ian’s realized that LEGOs are better when organized. LEGO Builders Local 302. He’s recognized that, if he thinks a little, plans a little, LEGOs can turn into whatever he wants.
At dinner last Friday, the death-car had become Bumblebee. ‘Daddy? This is Bumblebee.’ Who he then broke into pieces. ‘See, now he’s changing!’
I nodded and stopped paying attention. I know, I know. But we were with friends, talking, and Ian does this all the time. ‘See, Daddy? It’s a tram!’ A block with wheels. ‘See, Daddy? It’s a house!’ A block with wheels. ‘See, Daddy? It’s a horse!’ A block with wheels.
‘See, Daddy? He’s a jet!’ And…he was. Bumblebee had changed from Kit’s demon-possessed cousin to a sleek, streamlined fighter jet. Those adjectives aren’t creative license. It was trim, well-built, symmetrical. It was cool! He’d used the wheel wells for wings, the hood for a nose, and had even added landing lights near the stern.
I think my son’s creativity was worth the price of Bumblebee’s defection to the Decepticons.