Aside from the still-working E.T. Furbie making me shit my pants when it started talking me in the darkness of the basement, it was an oddly fun and emotional experience to once again hold these toys, then pack them up to be given to charities.
We all, as children, anthropomorphize our toys. We project an assumption that they care about us as much as we care about them. I guess another factor for me, and I assume many, is that these inanimate objects were often our substitute for real friends. I was the local fag by age 7. I lost myself in fantasy at home with my toys. I was frankly a little bit stunned at the sizable lump in my throat as I saw these toys again and held them for one last time. Total TOY STORY 3 moments. I actually hurt - like I was saying goodbye to a friend and savior. In a way, I suppose I was.