Entry #3: TOYS

As a little girl I had few toys of my own, just leftovers from my brothers. A lot of stubby used crayons - but no paper. A silver Erector Set from 1955 that was just as exciting as silver rods and bolts could be. A box of wooden blocks with enigmatic notes scribbled on them that said things like, "rocket ship supplies." I had about a dozen red Legos - not enough to build anything. Some old Lincoln Logs. And a wood-burning tool that should never have been handed to ANY child.

My four favorite toys were: 

1.  A stubby plastic Troll with round, astonished glass eyes and long black hair - a gift from my father when I had tonsillitis yet again;

2.  A well-knicked black Superball I would bounce outside for hours;

3.  One egg of Silly Putty, blackened by newsprint; and

4.  A silvery blob of liquid mercury that I would roll around and poke in the palm of my hand, marveling at how all the tiny bubbles of mercury always found each other and made a single shiny, slippery puddle.

In case you're wondering: yes, mercury is poisonous. Today you can't even buy mercury thermometers any more.

If I dared to tell my mother I was bored, she would respond, "The INTELLIGENT person is never bored." Every. Single. Time.

If she was in a generous mood, she would put some flour in a bowl, run some water on top, and send me outside to play. I tried, I really did - but there isn't a damn thing you can do with flour paste. My mother seemed to believe it was the equivalent of Play-Doh or modeling clay. One of her favorite expressions was, "Nothing is anything," which roughly translates to, "I refuse to use a real product when instead I can cleverly outwit everyone by using something cheaper that I think is equivalent." For example, instead of buying furniture polish, she would wipe down the wooden furniture with mayonnaise. She clearly thought she was quite clever to avoid spending any of her $30 million on something as useless as a child's toy.

I am happy to say that, since the pendulum must swing the other way, even though my husband and I did not have two nickels to rub together, our kids were inundated with toys. I was an equal opportunity toy consumer: Fisher-price, Hot Wheels, Z-Bots, Care Bears, Play-Doh, HUGE sets of Legos, a horse on springs, musical instruments, art supplies, books, bouncy balls, a trampoline, a ping-pong table... It was the childhood I never had! Fortunately my kids never developed a spoiled attitude, possibly because each and every toy was such a big deal for ME.

One of the more peculiar aspects of my childhood is that my mother vehemently detested dolls of any kind. This was not a feminist statement, nor was it because I was a tomboy. I think my mother hated being a mother so much that she could not tolerate the sight of a child "mothering" a doll. While other girls were changing their dolls into pretty clothes and taking them for walks in doll-sized strollers, I had a stuffed weasel. 

My mother was also inappropriately fixated on the sexual features of Barbie, so Barbie dolls were not only forbidden, but also viewed as shameful and sleazy. This confused me. All I knew is that I wished I could have a Barbie. It would have made me pass for normal.

As a result of all this Barbie deprivation, I could not WAIT to buy one for my daughter as she grew older. She didn't show much interest, but one summer I finally persuaded her to accept a Ballerina Barbie - with bendable knees!

Over the next few birthday parties my daughter was given a zillion Barbies. My sister-in-law sewed unique Barbie outfits with tiny snaps and fancy fabrics. We had a whole cardboard box full of Barbies, and plastic bags full of Barbie clothes and Barbie shoes and Barbie accessories. Barbie had trouble keeping her clothes on, especially those weensy shoes. 

Finally the day came when my daughter outgrew her Barbies. We went through the house, and the vast toy collection, and had a garage sale.

A nice grandmother picked up the plastic bag full of Barbies and said thoughtfully, "Maybe I'll get these for my grand-daughter." 

She smiled kindly at my daughter and asked, "Were these yours, dear?"

"Yes," said my daughter politely. Without batting an eye she added, "I HATE them."

The nice granny put them down again and walked away.

What were your favorite toys when you were little? Did your parents ever give you, or take away from you, a favorite item? If you have children, do you have a philosophy about toys? Please share in the comments!

11/12/13