Once upon a time, a small boy's aunt came to visit, bringing with her a large cardboard box full of plastic and metal pieces:
The small boy's parents objected to the introduction of yet another piece of plastic detritus into their lives, but when the pieces were all assembled (by the small boy's much larger cousin), it looked like this:
And there was no denying how much the small boy loved that pile of plastic pieces.
The small boy and the plastic car had many wonderful adventures together.
Five years later, the small boy, now much larger, took his final ride in that plastic car, now a little faded but still sturdy:
And then the plastic car was passed on to another small boy, who greeted it with the very same joy and excitement that first small boy had all those years ago. And the first small boy's mother managed not to cry. Not even a little. Until just now, of course.
Time marches on and small boys get larger and larger. And mothers remain the same weepy mess.