Inspiration for the Young at Heart
Alison Shelton
Just about the time a woman thinks her work is done, she becomes a grandmother.
For those of us raised in a gentler time, visiting a toy store in today's world can be a daunting experience. It's not that we didn't have our own difficulties a generation ago—we stood in line for the latest shipment of Strawberry Shortcake dolls, waited to adopt a Cabbage Patch or kept up with the latest Atari game. Still, those hurdles were nothing compared to what we experience now when we go in search of toys for the grandkids.
Years ago, a barrage of television commercials around the holidays helped us a little. Children wanted whatever flashed across the screen, and for us, an actual image and name we could pronounce was a good start. Today, we're on our own.
Being told, "Get them anything—they like whatever you choose," may be well-intended advice, but useless, nevertheless. Sure, they'll like anything. That's why there are rows of different lunch boxes, a myriad of craft projects and board games, miles of train sets and shelves of different action figures. After I insisted I needed clearer directions, my daughters were more specific: "It has to be a Game Boy Advantage 2, not just Game Boy or Advantage 1, but 2 and not a Game Cube; she wants pink first, then black but definitely not blue; it's the one that turns into a jet plane, not a tank or helicopter, but a jet; if you can't get the duck, then get the monkey, then the kitten, then the frog, but not the dog, she already has the dog." I jotted down the instructions as quickly as possible.
Armed with the shopping list I'd run by my daughters several times, I set out on a Tuesday (the day with the fewest shoppers) and as early in the morning as possible. Hanging on to a shred of pride, I walked past the young man in the red shirt. I was not ready to admit defeat, not within a few feet of the entrance.
Starting with the easy items, I headed for the doll section. All I needed was a simple doll stroller. How hard could that be? Thirty years ago, there was one choice; today, I could opt for the walking/running stroller, an umbrella stroller, a stroller for twins or the super-model with the rod of learning beads and balls to entertain the passenger, and—when that passenger is tired—can be folded back into a bed. Did someone forget the passenger is just a doll?
And, speaking of dolls. Today, they eat, wet their diapers, speak full sentences, change facial expressions—everything but pay for themselves. One realistic newborn started wailing whenever I walked near it. I stood there, pleading with the doll, "Please, stop that, be quiet, shhhhh. Please ... " Looking over my shoulder for witnesses, I slipped away, feeling guilty that I had disturbed that sleeping chunk of plastic. Whatever happened to the plain, empty-eyed, curly-haired dolls that did nothing but lie there?
I was elated to find one item sitting right at the front of its section. The joy, however, was short-lived as I realized the item came in a box, unassembled. From the sound of 100 different parts rattling around inside that box, I knew the words "easy to assemble" applied to those with MIT engineering degrees. The devil on my shoulder urged me to buy it anyway and let my son-in-law deal with the hours of frustration. Maybe supplying the "batteries not included" would help me look a little better.
The final stop was in the electronics department. Confident I had this one down, I marched up to the counter and read off my list, which sounded something like "Pokamong Peekachu Venge da Nivia." Tilting his head, the clerk looked me square in the eyes and asked, "Huh?" I tried the name a few more times until he figured out what I was trying to say. When he informed me he thought the store was out of stock, my face began to tighten, then twist; I could feel heat working its way from my neck to my hairline as I growled through clenched teeth, "Look again." He scurried into the supply room and found one.
An hour and a half after starting my search, I was back in the car with the toys safely stored in the trunk. I had weathered this venture, fortunately finding every item on my list. My heart rate had returned to almost normal, and the beads of perspiration had begun to dry. Although I was proud of myself for tackling this feat and felt a sense of achievement in braving the maze of a modern toy store, next time I will grab that kid in the red shirt as soon as I push through the doors.
(830 words)