When my brother brushed off my polite requests to return the stolen LEGO masterpieces his son had swiped during a family dinner, I kept my cool. But after a month of “forgetting” to bring them back, I decided it was time to teach him a lesson he wouldn’t forget.
The chaos started innocently enough during a family dinner. My brother Ben’s nine-year-old son, Jason, had wandered into our living room and immediately spotted one of our beloved LEGO dioramas on the mantel.
“Dad! Look! A bank robber hiding from the cops!” he exclaimed, pointing with wide-eyed excitement.
I followed his gaze, my curiosity piqued. “Oh, good catch, Jason. That one’s new. Boys, when did this one appear?”
Toby, my eldest, smirked. “Two days ago. Thought for sure you’d notice while dusting, Mom.”
I chuckled, shaking my head. My kids and I shared a quirky hobby—building elaborate LEGO scenes and hiding them around the house for fun. It was our way of bonding, and every diorama carried hours of teamwork and laughter.
Jason, intrigued, tore off to explore other parts of the house, squealing with delight every time he discovered another hidden creation. By dinner, he had found almost all of them and was practically vibrating with enthusiasm.
“Can I take one home, Dad?” Jason asked as they were leaving.
“No, buddy, these belong here,” Ben replied distractedly, ruffling his son’s hair.
It wasn’t until hours later that we realized the full extent of the damage.
“Mom?” Toby’s voice came from the LEGO room, laced with disbelief. “Chewie’s gone… and so is the Minecraft Creeper in the Hogwarts Library!”
I froze, dread pooling in my stomach. We searched the house from top to bottom, but the missing dioramas were nowhere to be found.
“They were here before dinner,” Max, my youngest, said grimly. “It has to be Jason.”
I sighed, dialing Ben’s number. “Hey, bro. Funny thing—Jason seems to have taken some of our LEGO builds home with him. Could you bring them back?”
Ben laughed. “Oh, Carly, they’re just toys! Relax. I’ll bring them next time we meet up.”
His dismissive tone stung. Those “toys” were more than plastic bricks to us. They were precious memories, irreplaceable tokens of our family’s creativity and connection.
The “next time” came and went. So did the time after that. Each time, Ben conveniently forgot to return the stolen LEGO. My boys grew increasingly disheartened, their disappointment gnawing at me. By Christmas, I knew Ben wasn’t planning to return anything.
That’s when I decided enough was enough.
“Boys,” I said one evening, gathering Toby and Max in the living room, “I think it’s time to teach your uncle a little lesson in borrowing.”
Their eyes lit up with mischief as I outlined the plan. By the time I finished, they were grinning like conspirators in a heist movie.
At Ben’s New Year’s BBQ, I waited for my moment. “Hey, bro!” I called out, approaching him at the grill. “Where are our LEGO sets? I’d like to put them in my car before we leave.”
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