When asked what they want for a gift, most teens would say a CD player, or maybe an iPod, but I want Lego. I received my first set for my fifth birthday, a tiny pizzeria with an umbrella and a delivery truck. Since then my collection has expanded rapidly and I have built skyscrapers, constructed spaceships and designed submarines. There is a small area in my house designated   as The Lego Room. Beyond its door, I fantasize and govern my own small world of castles, modem cities, and thousands of Lego people. Each time I enter The Lego Room, a new story is created. Once, a friend asked to tour this room. Amazed by my Star Wars models, he reached for a ship and accidentally knocked over a restaurant, breaking it to pieces! This disaster became an opportunity to rebuild and I fashioned a two-story food court with a McDonald's, pizzeria, and drive-thru. It was better than the original! Ideas for new constructions fill my head and I write them down in a sketchbook. Lego represents a creative consistency   in my life, much as an artist has his canvas   and a musician, his violin. Lego has taught me to be an architect, engineer, governor, economist and so on. Lego has provided the building blocks of my future, developing my math skills and ability to follow complex directions. As I build new worlds, brick by brick, I imagine my own possibilities and opportunities. Through the "lives" of my Lego friends, I have been able to act out all kinds of experiences. They have served as a link between my childhood and manhood. My friends say I'm childlike and there is truth to that, but perhaps we should all find a way to keep in touch with our childhood. Lego is mine. What can we infer from the passage?
The author likes collecting anything but Lego. The author wants to be an architect. The author has benefited a lot from playing with Lego. The author doesn't want to grow up.