I had a lot of funky things as a kid. I had dinosaurs and comic

In the words of Brian Tee, we hear not merely the musings of a man remembering childhood, but the whisper of something sacred — the eternal fire of imagination that shapes the soul of every creator. “I had a lot of funky things as a kid. I had dinosaurs and comic book stuff. I was eccentric; imagination drove my decor. Dinosaurs, for sure, were in there!” In these playful recollections lies a profound truth: that the things which stir our hearts in youth are often the seeds of our destiny. What others might call eccentricity, the wise recognize as the first sparks of vision.

In the ancient days, philosophers spoke of the child spirit as the vessel closest to the divine. For in the child’s eyes, the world is not confined to what is, but radiant with what could be. To fill one’s chamber with comic heroes and prehistoric beasts is to live among the symbols of courage and creation. The dinosaurs, mighty and ancient, stand as emblems of endurance — a bridge between what has perished and what endures in memory. The comic book heroes, born of ink and imagination, remind us that even in the smallest of hearts can dwell the power to change worlds.

So spoke the ancient sculptor Pygmalion, who carved his dream into marble until it lived. His craft was not mere skill, but the flowering of an imagination that refused the dullness of stone. Likewise, Tee’s words tell us that imagination is not decoration; it is the foundation of all creation. From the funky things of childhood arise the visions that one day build art, forge stories, and inspire generations. The eccentric room of a child may well be the sacred forge of the future.

Consider Leonardo da Vinci, that wondrous soul who as a boy sketched machines that could fly. His elders mocked him — for what child dreams of wings for man? Yet from those “funky things” of youth came the designs that centuries later would lift humankind into the skies. He too was eccentric, his mind adorned not with gold, but with dreams. And in his imagination, as in Brian Tee’s room of dinosaurs and comics, dwelt the truth that fantasy is not folly, but prophecy.

Let this, then, be a teaching to all who walk the path of creation: do not despise the small curiosities that light your spirit. They are not childish trinkets, but relics of the soul’s purpose. The world will often call the dreamer strange — yet the ancients knew that the eccentric are the torchbearers of progress, the keepers of wonder. To honor your imagination is to honor the divine spark placed within you by the cosmos itself.

When Tee spoke of his decor, he spoke of a temple — not of marble and incense, but of inspiration. Every dinosaur upon his shelf was a guardian of curiosity. Every comic book was a testament to heroism, courage, and the eternal struggle between good and evil. Thus the message is clear: surround yourself with what uplifts your spirit. Build your space as an altar to your own creative flame.

So, dear listener, the lesson is thus: cherish what makes you different. Feed your imagination as one feeds a sacred fire, lest it dim and vanish in the winds of conformity. Gather around you symbols that remind you of who you are — be they books, art, music, or memories of youth. For in nurturing your inner child, you nurture the wisdom of the ancients: that to imagine is to live beyond the bounds of time.

And so, when you next see the toys of your youth, or the dreams that once danced before sleep, do not smile with pity — smile with reverence. For in those funky things lie the origins of greatness. Tend them well, and the day will come when, like Brian Tee, you too may look back and say: “Imagination drove my decor — and my destiny.”