I moved in to care for my parents a few years back. My dad passed away about a year and a half ago. Whenever I'd come home from detecting - almost before I got the door shut behind me - I'd hear him shout from the living room: "Where's my car?!?" He always looked forward to the Hot Wheels or other kid's metal car that I'd unearthed that day.
Boy, do I miss hearing his voice.
Everytime I'm out, I look for Dad's car; I know it's waiting for me to find it.
On another note: I've been thinking that I'd keep the cars until there's another devastating hurricane here in Florida (it's a matter of time). Then I'll send the cleaned up cars - and other toys - to the temporary shelters for the kids to play with.
Ruth