68. The red-and-white helicopter.

While talking to a lovely girl tonight I started thinking about Play-Doh. I miss the taste of Play-Doh; it tasted exactly like slightly bitter salt crystals. The crystal part of the description is necessary, as anyone who has ever tasted Play-Doh will agree that the taste is closer to rock salt than table salt. This got me thinking about other toys that I had.

My fondest memory of a toy — apart from my teddy bear, whom I’ll write about at a later date — is of a small helicopter. In my five-year-old hands it was quite large; just smaller than a matchbox, and covering much of my palm. It had vibrant red and white stripes along its length, and the main rotors turned with some sticking. I tried turning the tail rotor, but it was cast onto the body. It had a beautiful glossy finish, and it had window frames, but nothing to call windows.

My cousin gave it to me just before my family went back to the Philippines after our first abortive attempt at living in Australia, the details of which would profit no one. I don’t know what happened to that helicopter: maybe I left it with my cousin after all as we up and left, or it fell out of a partly-open bag, or it was thrown away while I cleared the squalor of my room. Maybe I threw it away deliberately, seeing as I had no particular attachment to it, and what would I gain from keeping another small and fragile play thing?

But oh, to hold that helicopter again.

New: How to Crack Eggs like a pastry chef.
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Found under Writing.

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