LEGO Read Free Page A

held within it one of my childhood dreams, the idea that I could join the ranks of LEGO master model builders—men and women who construct giant LEGO sculptures for department stores and theme parks. It’s a dream I left in the closet next to blue tub.
    At the time, I was writing an essay for Women’s Health magazine about why men need deferred dreams in order to deal with real-life responsibilities. The memory of wanting to be a master builder prompted me to search online for those who earned their living with LEGO bricks. I was surprised by the vibrant community I found. These weren’t just master builders; they were minifig customizers and LEGO car clubs that existed solely to build miniature hot rods with working doors and hoods—and they were a community of thousands. And then I discovered the things they built: a twenty-two-foot-long Titanic, a mosaic of the Mona Lisa, round spheres from rectangular bricks. These were artistic works of incredible size built by adults. I began to think that it might be okay for a guy with no kids to start playing with a toy again.
    Adult LEGO fans all have had a moment of awakening, something that brought back their love of LEGO. This was mine. For a true fan of LEGO, the bricks can never be put away forever. People have built their entire careers, relationships, and lives around this toy. They have developed a language and commerce, all in celebration of pursuing a childhood passion together. And I wanted in to that world. I wanted to build like they build. I also wanted to recapture what I used to feel as a child, while building.
    From that moment on, I’ve been ready to dive back into the childhood world that I left behind, to discover what happens to people who never leave that world. I want to know how people can form such complex relationships around a simple brick, and what it means to pursue your dream when the potential for financial gain or even solvency is remote. This means not just meeting adult fans, but playing with LEGO bricks alongside them.
    I’ll need my own toys, however, if I’m going to play together with others. I’ve discussed with Kate the need to fill our house with toy bricks, but I don’t think she quite has an idea of just how many we’re talking about, as I’ve kept the pictures of the types of collections that adult fans amass to myself.
    There are only two slight issues. I don’t have any LEGO bricks at my new house, and I don’t know how to build with them. The first problem is easy to solve. I’ve got a credit card, and LEGO is conveniently available at toy stores and superstores.
    Regarding the second problem, my wife’s former college room-mate, Abby, voices my own fears: “Kate is the urban planner who builds all the furniture.”
    She’s right. During the time Kate and I have been together, I have attempted to build one desk and one bureau. After multiple instances of screwing in the unfinished side facing out, both projects required some emergency assistance from my wife.
    Even Kate admits to some skepticism about what I might build. “I could see you having trouble with three-dimensional visualization. It would seem that imagining things in 3-D would be critical to building.”
    But this problem can be solved, too. I’ll seek out talented builders, at conventions and online, to discover what it takes to master building techniques. And I choose to believe that my abilities haven’t regressed with age. I played with LEGO bricks once, and what I made was good. LEGO doesn’t change—the bricks today are the same as when I was ten—but I’ve changed, and the adult me is better equipped. I’m smarter and physically stronger. I can do this.
    As I anticipate learning to build again, I feel excited that I’ll see the extremes of adult builders, including the Toy and Plastic Brick Museum, one fan’s multimillion brick collection of LEGO sculptures and artifacts set inside a former middle school. I’m compelled to learn how a tiny