I will always love you, Dilophosaurus

I always had a rather strong affinity for toys when I was growing up. It's a given that most little kids love their toys but I loved mine. As one who suffered a mild McDonald's addiction, I was very adamant that I would get the right toy in my happy meal and would get my mom to ask the poor cashier which ones they had to offer. Of course, if it didn't meet my satisfaction a horrendous tantrum would occur. Some may call that being a brat, but I like to think of it as a real passion. My toy fascination didn't subside until an embarrassingly late age; at 13 I had an entire bookshelf full of most every character from the Lord of the Rings trilogy. My younger brother and I would utilize different action figures, beanie babies, and McDonald's treats to form armies and play out elaborate story lines that spanned hours at a time; there was romance, betrayal, and monumental showdowns like you wouldn't believe. My toy days finally found an end, and most of my beloved figures are packed in a box in a dark basement. I like to think the paradigm for consciousness as established by Toy Story is true and that they still converse, move about, and maybe think of me. Sometimes I think of them too. Some I'll always remember. Some I'll always love. Perhaps none like the Dilophosaurus.

"And Iiiiiiiiiiiii-iiiiii-ii will always love youuuuuuu-hooo too, Taylor!

If I had to divide my life into time periods, it would be B.D. and A.D, eras defining my life before and after Dilophosaurus. Having your soul robbed at such a young age hardens a boy quickly. For those of you unsure of what a dilophosaurus might be, I'll take you for a walk back in time. Back, over 65 million years in the past. I'm talking about the year 1989, when Jurassic Park was first released. Remember the obnoxious, blubbery antagonist that smuggled out the dino DNA in a shaving cream can? He met his shrieking fate at the hands of a certain hissing, frilled beast, one that went from cooing and innocent in one scene to rather rude and unfriendly in an instance. As you remember well (and if you don't, then you haven't seen Jurassic Park, and I'll kindly ask you to never read my blog again), Newman was either eaten or sexually assaulted by this flamboyant monster. Still, to me, this beast was a good friend. Rubber, pocket-sized, and able to withstand my most violent playing sessions, Dilo was a beloved toy. Or perhaps it wasn't at the time...my perspective is skewed. You see, we never know what we have until it's gone.

It was a fateful trip to Kroger that burgled me of my innocence. Grocery shopping was always a tedious journey for a young lad, and I'd chosen my companion well. The store was an endless labyrinth, and aside from a few brightly colored cereal boxes marketed to catch my child eyes, there was little to keep me entertained. Somehow, though, I made an error, one that haunted me for days on end. One moment I was toddling about, Dilo in tow, and the next....it was gone. I checked my pockets, scanned the buggy, scavenged the shelves, but Dilo was missing. Perhaps the reason I relate to Gollum of Lord of the Rings lore so well is how similar we were in our reaction to losing our "precious." It was this panic that alerted my mother to this threat level red crisis. She helped me look, but in vain. Perhaps we could call the police, I suggested, but she would not allow it, a notion I couldn't comprehend at the time. How could she not understand? Why was she continuing to shop for groceries? What sort of world did we live in?? My reality was, for roughly 2 hours, shattered.

Last known photo of Dilo. Missing since circa 1995. 

The ride home allowed for it to sink in. I had bawled loudly, and now simply wept in silence. The world was cruel to me that day. I would not gleefully return to the car to find Dilo hiding under the seat. My mother would not reveal him from her purse as some sort of cruel joke. I was a cocktail of depression and a rising fury; someone had stolen it from us. I'd imagined the faces of all the other snot-nosed brats, so unworthy to wield my favorite possession of the day. Murder filled my heart, yet it only made me cry harder. In an effort to calm me down, my mother loudly turned up the radio in an attempt convince me to sing along. The melody that filled my ears was so fitting and so haunting. Dolly Parton's angelic voice soaked my very essence in a soothing understanding, and so I struggled to sing along. "I will always love you," I sang to Dilophosaurus. I looked to the sky for hope, yet it starred back blankly. I wondered if Dilo saw it as well. Perhaps, one day, we would meet again in heaven. For now, Dilo, I can only say this to you: You are still remembered to this day. Never forget.