Joe related, I lost my Flash one dark morning of 1986.
Before going to school I played in my room with my Joes and Flash was the leader of my team at the time. It was the last time I ever saw him. He simply vanished from my room.


I remember lending my Leader-1 figure to a friend in exchange of his Kit hot wheel for a day. I took real care of it since it wasn't mine. My friend didn't have the same idea since he give me back my Gobot with both his tail fins broken...

Lesson learned.

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Non-Joe: I just got Jazz, one of my all-time favorite Autobots, and brought him to school. Let another kid transform him, who promptly snapped the fragile roof off. I was ever so pissed. Lesson learned. I was thrilled to get reissue Jazz.

Joe: Got the WOLF and Ice Viper for my 10th birthday, and promptly lost the sai's. I was always good with keeping accessories, but damn, I only had those a few hours. Always thought they were an odd choice for a cold-weather vehicle driver though, so I just gave him a rifle.

...I've told this story before:

I was moving out of my Ex - fiancee's house when the relationship went sour. and apparently I didnt move out fast enough, (like, IMMEDIATELY) so my entire original childhood collection was thrown away.
what isnt seen is the defiant with 3 crusader shuttles, both the original and 92 HQ, the General;, the entire figure line up to 1999, the entire Lanard line up to 2000, a sand trooper and battle droid army, and a massive CD soundtrack collection that also was caught in the hertbreak typhoon.
the only survivor was a Snake Eyes V2 with a customs metal sword.

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KOP I don't want to hear stories like that. That's like those awful but true murder stories that will haunt you're subconsicous forever. I'm crying over hear. Tears are a falling.

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Dude, I would have testified on your behalf...

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My dad used to insist on putting together my Joe vehicles and applying all the decals. The Christmas I got my Cobra Rattler, I PLEADED with him to let me put it together. "Nope. I don't want you to break something or mess something up, so just let me do it, okay?" So I waited patiently, played with some Star Wars and a couple of Joes I got that year, when I heard "CRACK!...crap."

My dad had broken one of the main landing gear struts trying to put it in. For the rest of my Cobra Rattler's life it had one of the main landing gear struts held together with duct tape.

I still don't know why we didn't just return it and get another one.

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Hey Sharkbait, yeah, that'd have to have been 83 or 84...now a days if you bring a toy soldier to school, the school goes into lockdown, they suspend you and make you go through therapy and a special disciplanary school for bad kids, you have to publicly appologize for what you did and you're put on a special list kept by the police, as well as your parents getting regular vistits from child protective services.


And that's if the toy soldier DIDN'T have a weapon of any kind.

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Like Trekker, my parents did that whole "you're an adult now" throwout, followed by the usual scripture quote about giving up childlike things. But my cut-off was 12.

I remember the day. I was reading a library book, in the quiet, and my mother came in with a box. Didn't bode well. Then she took every birthday 12" Joe, Captain Action, Action Boy, Marx Zoo animals, even the Giant(tm) (now a SERIOUS collectors item) Knights playset I bought off the comic book from the coupon inside with my own money, and chucked them in the incinerator (we burned garbage in the projects back then before compactors). Then came the scripture, then she handed me the book "Around the World in 80 Days". Pity for her, I had read that already in school and had seen the movie as well on The Late Show.

Wasn't able to get another toy at all until I married at 19, and was subsequently on my own. Promised to never let my kids experience that kind of nonsense, and kept it. They got to enjoy the full on convention and trade show experience, and still do so now, at 30 and 28.

Prior to the 12 cut-off, it was the rounds of sticky fingered cousins who had to be frisked at the door upon leaving.

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