It’s A (Wonder) FOL Life

Today’s guest article comes from Graeme Dymond, a LEGO Certified Professional (LCP) and AFOL living in Toronto, Canada.

A Holiday Story of Joy and Brokenness

The holiday season has a unique way of amplifying our emotions—good or bad. For some, it’s a time of joy and togetherness. Many of my favorite LEGO memories are from opening presents during the holiday season, and I’m sure many other readers have similar stories. I love to decorate my front lawn with large, holiday themed DUPLO sculptures and share the love of LEGO bricks with my neighborhood.

For many others, though, the holidays can be a period of isolation, self-doubt, or even quiet desperation. It can be hard to reach out for help or share what you are feeling, and many go through the holidays silently struggling alone.

I want to share a story with an important lesson I learned recently, one that echoes a message found in a certain Christmas movie you may have heard of, It’s A Wonderful Life. It’s a story about joy and brokenness—both literally and figuratively. 

it can be easy to feel alone, even when we are surrounded by others.

If there’s one message I hope this story conveys, it’s this: it’s okay to ask for help. If you’re part of the AFOL (Adult Fan of LEGO) community, you’re already surrounded by people who are kind, caring, and ready to lend a hand when you need it most. This community—virtual or local—has a remarkable way of building more than just bricks. It builds bridges, connections, and support systems that can carry us through life’s toughest challenges.

When Life Throws a Wrench in Your Path

As a LEGO Certified Professional (LCP), my life revolves around the joy of building. Whether I’m constructing large models, facilitating corporate events, or organizing Canada’s largest LEGO fan exhibition, Bricks in the Six, LEGO is at the heart of everything I do. When my day of building professionally is done, I build LEGO with my kids. But on the evening of October 21st, life threw a significant wrench (or should I say a brick separator) into my path. 

While I was coaching my son’s ice hockey team, a speedy 11-year-old unintentionally took me down and sent me flying like an Airjitsu spinner. I landed hard, and when I tried to get up, I realized something was very wrong—my body wouldn’t let me. I felt like a poorly packed MOC on its way to a LEGO convention.

magically whisked away by LEGO minifigures… at least this is how I remember it… maybe it was the adrenaline…

One trip to the hospital later, I discovered I had broken my hip—specifically, a mildly comminuted, nondisplaced intertrochanteric fracture of my femur. Let’s just call it a broken femur, because saying “broken hip” makes me sound far older than 40.

The experience landed me in the orthopedic ward, where I was by far the youngest patient. I felt like a DUPLO brick amongst vintage LEGO wooden ducks. It was humbling and, in hindsight, a bit humorous. I now have a long metal rod in my femur. I like to joke that I’ve become part Technic, Bionicle, or maybe slowly turning into a Galidor figure. It’s good to laugh about it now, but at the time, I was secretly consumed by dread.

Lying in that hospital bed awaiting surgery, I couldn’t stop thinking about everything I was failing to do. I had a big project scheduled with BrickNerd editor Dave Schefcik set to begin the very next day. There were three massive mosaics—each requiring around 30,000 LEGO pieces—that needed to be completed for clients in the next 2.5 weeks. And on top of all that, Bricks in the Six was less than a month away.

Hospital stays were made easy thanks to LEGO Friends.

The weight of these responsibilities felt unbearable—and I already couldn’t even bear my own weight! I felt like a failure. I felt like I was not going to be able to fulfill my responsibilities. How was I going to get it all done? Would I let everyone down? What would my clients think? They would probably never want to work with me again. Would this strain my relationship with my wife, my kids, my friends, and my family? I didn’t want to be a burden to anyone, and all I could think about in those moments was how much I was letting all these people down.

Receiving Help From a Network of People

Asking for help has never come naturally to me. I’ve always tried to be an open ear to my friends—a person who is there for others. Over time I internalized that my role is solely to listen and help others. I mean, if I start asking for help, then who is going to take on the role of being the listener or the helper? I concluded that I could only accept help if it’s insistently offered, or if I’ve absolutely run out of options. Maybe you can relate. Breaking my femur forced me to rethink that mindset. 

From the moment I contacted Dave to explain the situation regarding the project, he understood immediately and reassured me that we’d figure things out.

The AFOL community—and my personal network—stepped up in ways I could have never imagined. Simon Liu, a fellow Torontonian BrickNerd and long-time LEGO building collaborator, didn’t hesitate to step into my role to support Dave at the event. Simon’s generosity ensured that everything went smoothly and gave me peace of mind during those initial challenging days.

Meanwhile, my family, friends, and community stepped in to help with many of the tasks in and around my home, including meal prep. The massive mosaics I was supposed to complete became a group effort. Friends, family, and AFOLs rallied to help me lift boxes, sort pieces, and build when I physically couldn’t. Tasks that seemed impossible in my condition suddenly became manageable with their support. It was also fun seeing my family dive into the LEGO building side of my life and spark that creative joy that building with LEGO bricks can bring.

Two of my non-AFOL family members discovering their joy for building megastructures out of DUPLO bricks.

Then there was Bricks in the Six. Organizing a LEGO convention is no small feat, especially in the final stretch. It involves logistics, transportation, and countless moving parts—many of which I simply couldn’t handle. Yet, time and again, people stepped in to help.

Volunteers offered rides, managed on-site logistics, and ensured that the event ran smoothly. I owe a special thanks to ToroLUG (my local LEGO User Group), whose members really stepped up to assist during this time, both in the lead-in to and during the show. I’m also incredibly grateful to Shawn McLeod, an amazing AFOL who flew in from hundreds of kilometers away, weeks in advance, to help with preparations for Bricks in the Six. Shawn not only assisted with event logistics but also helped me with various non-LEGO-related projects and mundane tasks around the house—invaluable support as my wife balanced raising our two kids alongside her busy job.

What struck me most was that these people didn’t just help because I needed it; they helped because they genuinely wanted to. This was a revelation for me. I’ve never hesitated to help out someone else in need, but I guess I didn’t feel or believe that people would want to do the same for me or that I deserved that kind of help and treatment. 

No Man is a Failure Who Has Friends

Looking back on my experience, I can’t help but draw parallels to the classic holiday movie It’s a Wonderful Life. Like the movie’s main character, George Bailey, I’ve often sought ways to support and uplift those around me. But when faced with my own moment of crisis, I fell into the same trap George did—believing I was alone, that I was a burden, and that my worth was tied solely to what I could do for others.

And just like George, I was shown—in no uncertain terms—that I was wrong. My community, much like the town of Bedford Falls, came together to remind me of something incredibly important: I matter to them, not just for what I can give, but for who I am.

This holiday season, I want to remind you all of that same truth. Please know that it’s okay to ask for help. You don’t have to be an LCP or run a LEGO convention to be valuable. You are valuable for who you are. There are people around you who are more than willing to be there for you, even if you can’t always.

And if you’re part of this incredible LEGO fan community, remember that you’re part of something special. We build with bricks, but more importantly, we build each other up.

Every time a LEGO brick clicks, an angel gets its wings.

To everyone who helped me through this challenging time, thank you. Thank you to BrickNerd for being a pillar of building community amongst AFOLs and telling unique, diverse stories that really get to the heart of what it means to be a community.

And to anyone reading this who feels alone, know that you’re not. This community has the power to truly build each other up—to support, uplift, and remind us all of our worth. Sometimes, all it takes is the courage to ask for a little help. After all, It’s A(wonder)FOL life!

How has the LEGO community helped you? How can you help someone out this holiday season?

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