Toy Trouble

By Robert Schwartz

As the holiday season approaches, veteran parents clearly recognize what this time of year brings.They have parental perspective because they are aware of OPP. That's better known as Other Peoples Presents. The gift-giving season provides for the infiltration of toys, from family and friends, which normally wouldn't make it through your front door.

Now I'm not a seasonal Scrooge as it's certainly a great joy watching my children open gifts. However, my toy phobia has been increased with the coming of one too many multi-part plastic game gadget playthings with cryptic directions. With apologies to Rogers and Hammerstein, the following, sung to the tune of My Favorite Things from the Sound of Music, reflects my neurosis of toy tension:

My Least Favorite Things

Trucks with ten batteries and dolls with shrill cries
Stuffed animals that shed and kites which don't fly.
Miniature boom boxes and torn yo yo strings
These are a few of my least favorite things.

Complex directions and virtual pets that won't sleep
Parts not included and electric games with loud beeps.
Puzzles missing pieces and pogo sticks with broke springs
These are a few of my least favorite things.

Balls without bounce and wheels that won't go round
Cracked plastic segments and toys with unceasing sound.
Computer games without purpose and toy phones with loud rings
These are a few of my least favorite things.

When the parts fit
When the toys last
Then I'm feeling glad
I can remember my least favorite things
And still won't feel too bad.

My mantra for the season is no longer "May peace be with you." That was before my house became decorated in the multi-colored theme of early childhood miscellaneous toy parts. My new focus is"May Pieces Not Be with You". My independent research has concluded that modern toys must contain a minimum of 647 pieces. My birthday wish list is solely that my children receive no toy with more than one part. From a parent's perspective, the silent joy of a pet rock cannot be overemphasized.

Presently, I've got the nefarious action figures and their miniature plastic armorwear, multi-piece habitats and seemingly innumerable modes of transportation decorating my family room floor. My living room is now occupied by dolls and extraterrestrials (quite the roommates) and their infinite accessories. There's so much stuff lying around I can't even remember if we have carpeting or wood floors.

My home has pretty much become a camouflaged minefield. Just when you think it's safe to transverse the ten yards to the bathroom in the middle of the night do you suddenly find that your six-year-old housemate has chosen to leave their galactic interplanetary space exploring flight equipment strewn across the hallway. Nothing like the adrenaline rush of feeling the imprint of a hard, pointy plastic object becoming imbedded within the sole of your foot at 2:OO a.m. Let's just say it's not conducive to feeling the holiday spirit.

Adding to my toy trouble is the directions that accompany these multi-equipped pieces of parts. Truth is I'm completely intruction illiterate. This dawned on me one post party put together of parts, as my four-year-old stood glued to my shoulder while I tried to decode the directions to his new whatchamacallit. I realized how desperate I'd become when, despite my unilingual state, I began to read the Spanish directions with the hope they'd shed some light on the situation. In any language, it was still no-comprendo.

It often seems that the pieces I've been supplied lack any remote resemblance to those on the box. There should be an indication as to what prerequisites are required before a parent could somehow be convinced they could put the toy together. Perhaps a warning which indicates "Two years of graduate level bio-mechanical engineering courses with previous experience of having built a Megatron Conversion Kryptonite Rocket Launching Fun Center within twenty-four minutes of opening the box." That should provide some guidance for the unsuspecting parent.

Another element of toy turmoil is noise. You always know the family gift givers who have no children since they're the ones supplying the two-year-olds with miniature boom boxes that play the same three-note song in a repetitious rhapsody. I may not have the greatest recollection for when my child first walked or spoke his first word but, unfortunately, every pre-school melody is forever embedded in my memory. Every now and then when I can't keep it in any longer, I find myself breaking out into a loud, quick chorus of "The Wheels on the Bus".

Now I know that toys are for the enjoyment of my children and they've yet to meet one they didn't like. However, there is something to be said for the pre-constructed, minimal piece, durable part and silent present. Hey, I think they call that a book.