on a dust-free Roman figurine

This is a Preiser Roman Legionary, 1/24 scale, that I bought in a nondescript store in Germany for €27. The plastic is quite brittle.

In non-nerd-ese this is a vintage toy Roman soldier that I paid a ripoff price for, and yet it’s too fragile for me to want to just keep it around the house.

It’s been living in a drawer up till now. I don’t want to accidentally break something vintage that I paid so much money for, I don’t want to see it get caked in dust which might make me want to clean it, which might make me break it.

So I took a photo of it with a nice filter, and put it away. In my drawer it could stay mostly dust-free, and I could open the drawer anytime I want to admire it, carefully handle it, and put it back. But mostly it’s out of sight, out of mind. Of course I could also keep it in the box it came in with the clear plastic sheet, and keep that around the house — but that’s a bit too Toy Story 2, so maybe not.

I don’t like the mess, the inevitable dust, the fading of the paint, having to clean it and possibly break it. I’d rather make do with a sterile photo stored away on my phone, half forgotten, where I can safely adore it anytime I want. 

I think that’s how I approach many things in life. I don’t like the mess, I like the sterile, safe distance, where I can think and talk about it without actually having to be anywhere near it. It’s easy to feel and speak when the object can’t speak back.

This past week three famous people died, one after the other (not to mention hundreds in Nepal, and countless others in many conflict zones around the world). I’d never paid much attention to Dolly Parton, I think Jolene is catchy and I liked how she gave free books to poor kids. I’d never thought much about Tim Curry, I liked how he hammed it up in Red Alert 3, but that’s it. And I’d always had a soft spot for Peter Cullen, Optimus Prime was one of my childhood heroes, but he had increasingly seemed like a lovable but curious relic to me. 

So when the news of their passing came, I jumped on the bandwagon, looking up all sorts of in memoriam pieces and feeling the grief. Three people that I’d never known, and honestly never given much thought to, but I found myself lionising them and feeling sad that they’d passed.

It’s so easy to feel things from a sterile distance. But if I thought Dolly Parton was such a swell lady, why hadn’t I paid any attention to what she’d been doing these last few years? If I thought Tim Curry was such a revelation, why did I only know him from one computer game, and let’s be honest I did roll my eyes at the memes. If Peter Cullen had been the voice and heart of my childhood hero, why hadn’t I known anything else about him, save for the fact that he’d voiced a cartoon robot? But now that they’re gone, it’s easy for me to admire them.

Why do I tell myself I love my two year old nephew, but I spent most of my summer vacation buried in my work, rather than playing with him? Why do I tell myself I’m a good son to my ageing parents, but I’m usually unavailable to help them? Why do I tell myself I’m devoted to my school and students, but I’m all too easily offended by this or that that’s been said or done?

Feeling from a distance, sterile admiration and care and devotion where there’s no risk of hurt or break — that’s not real. Messy reality, hurt and goodness, that’s real — the careless words or actions, the burning pride, the laughing at how silly it is, the tetchiness, the compromise, the realisation that I’m more of a hypocrite than I’d like, the forgiving others but also myself, the ageing, the demands on time, the risk of dust, the risk of breaking. All of this is real. It needs to be lived. Even if it might end in hurt or disappointment. Because it seems like the alternative is a lie — a safe, protected lie, even a stiflingly beautiful one, but always from the outside looking in, always wondering if only I’d just. Always just a memory, just a handful of dust.

So I think that little Roman soldier will sit on my shelf from now on. It’ll collect dust. But I’ll clean it when it does.