A 2-oz canister of Play-doh costs about 54 cents. (Less if you buy a case of 48).

When I was littler, I worried a lot about keeping the colors separate. Because it would, perhaps, ruin them if you mixed them up. Ben was over last night, playing with Grandma Nancy.

He had the black Play-doh, which was another color and black a couple play sessions back, but it now all black. And he had the yellow. They were piled together, squeezed through a couple of presses and a rolling pin.

“It’s turning green,” he said. “Look Grandpa Jon, there’s green.”

And there was. Yellow and black and marbled green.

Eventually, Ben moved on to getting as many cars as he could into a barn. And then on to a bath.

I could worry about Ben mixing up colors, about using Play-doh and the Matchbox crane my dad gave me six or so decades ago, and his uncle’s Matchbox fire engine ladder truck. I mean antique and new, two different brands, two different worlds of toys.

It’s not how play is done. It’s not very value preserving.

Or I could be grateful that Ben is. And that he plays. And that his play draws on so many sources.

You could be thinking, “Jon’s making a metaphor. He’s going to start talking about how it’s okay for different colors to be together.” I’m not.

There’s no metaphor here.

There is, however, a lesson. Play-doh is cheap and replaceable. People aren’t. Nor is time.

Creative play is formative. So is Grandma helping. And Ben and Grandma and Grandpa are all still learning.

Like, did you know if you mix colors of Play-doh, sometimes you get bland colors. Sometimes you get amazing transitional patterns. Sometimes you get Ben’s laugh.

Sometimes you just get 300 words.