The downside for the rest of the world and ultimately led to my fits of creative expression was that because we lived in a time of financial insecurity sometimes my need for exploration fell short of expectation because well, my parents couldn’t always afford to satisfy those desires. Back then, I remember it created some pretty awkward and tense moments in the store for them.
What it did do however was enable me to constantly seek out alternatives and often, make my own.
“Own” what exactly? Everything. My dad was a tradesman and taught me very early to work with my hands. My mom spoon feeding me books and never saying no to my need to “be making something” led to a valuable personal resource that I feel set me on the path I’ve been on. Creativity with no perceived limit.
See, it was the failure of man made materials that fueled my respect for real stuff. Good tools are made in a way so they do not break easily and give many years or generations of service. You won’t find plastic bottles in a treasure hoard, nor fun fur pelts displayed in a museum down the road. This electronic, plastic filled, LED infused crapfest of a sheeple testicle has to stop somewhere, or throw us into the universally recognized planet of ho hum pork rind eating dumping grounds other world entities see as barely worth wiping their asses with.