When I open my freezer, I never know what I’m going to find.
Like most family freezers, there are popsicles, frozen vegetables, meat, a random box of puff pastry that I bought for that one recipe that my friend swears is easy but requires seventy-three ingredients. There are also ice cube trays, cool packs, and a box of baking soda. But, nestled amongst all the typical items, I can usually find Harry Potter, Darth Vadar, Jack Sparrow, skeletons and, on rare occasions, a horse.
These are not expensive Eggos, they’re Legos.
The first time it happened, I opened the freezer and spied a plastic cup perched on a shelf. Confused, I pulled it out and looked inside. There, frozen under an inch of ice, was a Harry Potter mini figure, his face set in a creepy smile. His arms reached out to me through the ice, begging for release from his prison.
“Joseph!” I called to my first born. “Why is Harry Potter in the freezer?”
“He’s frozen and can’t escape,” my son said with glee.
“What are you going to do with him?”
“I’m going to melt him so he can go fight the bad guys,” he replied, dancing from foot to foot.
“Oh,” I said, nonplussed. Putting Harry back in the freezer, I tried to shrug it off. Now, months later, finding a mini figure or six in various bowls, cups, and containers is not an unusual event. Sometimes the mini figures are accompanied by their accessories – guns, swords, wands – like some sort of bizarre funeral rite. I’m still confused as to why he’s freezing his Legos. I try to tell myself that he’s a mad scientist experimenting with ice. Or that he’s just a little boy who likes to play with water in all its various forms. I try not to think I’m raising a serial killer who will freeze his hapless victims.
What sort of strange things do your children do in the name of play?
