Not merely content to believe in Santa Claus, the Easter Bunny and the Tooth Fairy, I made up my own fictitious, benevolent deity: the Toy Boy.
The Toy Boy was literally a toy soldier who would leave presents during my afternoon nap. He did so not under cover, but with very loud drumming. He’d slowly march through the living room and the kitchen at my grandparents’ house as I lay next to my grandfather during our afternoon nap, making like a top-flight line drummer the whole way. Ba-da-bum. Ba-da-dum. Dudududududududududududududududududu...
Santa, the Easter Bunny and the Tooth Fairy would rib him for this whenever they all hung out together. “Oh, Toy Boy,” the Tooth Fairy would tease, “You bang so loud!”
I dreamed about Toy Boy bringing me the Transformer Prowl. And anything else I wanted. Not for any particular occasion, or even because I was a greedy little bastard. Just because I thought it would be cool.
The toy soldier in question looked a lot like the Kay-Bee mascot. This was no accident, because I also had the Kay-Bee Blanket. That was a special blanket that could take you anywhere in the world you wanted to go via its magical fibers. And of course, the only place I ever wanted to go was Kay-Bee Toy and Hobby. Hence the name.
The blanket later became the Smurf Blanket when I became obsessed with the Smurfs, and it would take me to Smurf Land. Usually to meet Smurfette, my favorite Smurf (after Handy).
After reading all of this, I feel like I have to stress that all of this happened when I was six and/or seven years old. Put this story in the wrong decade and it takes on a whole new context. And I have enough actual tales of teenage depravity without being metaphorical.