Jim Tauber

I have saved this plastic robot since I was about 7 and have since surrounded it with similar toys from the ‘50s. I now have shelves of tin cars, robots, submarines, bunnies smoking pipes, lions blowing bubbles, bears drinking milk from a cup and, of course, my Mickey Mantle baseball glove and autographed ball. 

I get swept away gazing and holding these toys and am taken to a place in the recesses of my mind where life was simple. No cords or connections. Just me and a toy. My toys were a chance for my imagination to run wild. I can’t remember how many times, while in my room alone, I would toss a ball, seemingly out of reach, and dive across the room to make an amazing catch while I simultaneously announced the play as the final out of the winning game of the World Series. My toys line the shelves in my office, with my Robert the Robot standing tall as the guardian of my memories of a time that felt safe, simple and open for imagination. Long before all of my thoughts, actions and movements were able to be monitored and judged by electronics and the people behind them.

This robot represents my childhood. Not all of it, but the part that was mine to create. The part that was in my mind and not subject to evaluation. The robot and all the other toys stand to remind me that there is still a child inside me with fantasies and joys that are mine alone.