On a recent Saturday morning, I stumbled across a television special on the history of toys. It was the type of show that the channel surfer treasures; one that you discover rather than seek out, and the timing could not have been better. I was feeling down; work was overwhelming, news on both the national and local fronts was depressing, and I was fighting a nasty cold.

I grew up in the '60s, which was a magical time for toys. I was raised on Hot Wheels, Legos and G.I. Joe. My playtime was filled with adventure and I could go hours without food or drink, lost in my own imagination. I remember waking up and running straight to the toy box. My parents still asleep, I connected the bright orange racing track to a bookshelf in my room and ran it down the hallway. Every few seconds you could hear the distinctive "whoosh" of a Hot Wheel car racing to the finish line.

After a few hours of racing I would get out the Lego set and begin constructing a house. I needed a place to park my Hot Wheels so I always built the garage first. This of course would take hours. No architectural genius, I struggled with all but the most mundane of shapes. Then there were the missing bricks. Murphy's Law of the toy world: The more important the Lego brick to your project, the more likely it will be found at the bottom of the barrel.

My childhood was far from privileged, but I got the occasional toy during the course of the year. My best toys though, always came on Christmas morning. I remember the blinking lights reflecting off the presents under the tree and the smell of pine permeating the house. Unable to wait, I ran from the tree to my parent's room and shook them awake. I opened presents like a long distance lover opens a letter from his girlfriend. Life was simple then, a few toys and some free time was all I needed for a fun-filled day.

I am older now and have my fair share of toys. I fish, golf and fancy myself a woodworker so my shed's full. Still, I am not without wants, but I don't want more stuff, I just want stuff to get back to what it once was, maybe just for a little while. I want a simpler time. I know that Santa can't fit my childhood into that giant red sack of his, but maybe, if I am lucky, he can squeeze in a little Lego set, just for me. I can put it on my desk and when I get overwhelmed with life, I can build a small garage for a Hot Wheel or two. I hope Santa remembers me and my childhood.

Michael C. DeMattos is on the faculty at the University of Hawai'i Myron B. Thompson School of Social Work. Born and raised on the Wai'anae Coast, he now lives in Käne'ohe with his wife, daughter, two dogs and two mice.