EVERYTHING
FOR YOUR FAMILY
First Years
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The toys arrive before the baby does. At least in our home they did. And I am not complaining as much as, well, confessing. After all, I started it. A plush, stuffed animal from the Smithsonian collection. An eastern chipmunk accompanied by his own ID tag and informational booklet. It was, I told myself, educational, all-American even. And unique. How many kids have a stuffed chipmunk? And it was, of course, terrifically cute. Then, everybody else pitched in. Four baby showers and 9 months later, let’s just say that by the time the baby arrived, well, he might have needed a field guide to keep track of the various creatures that had joined the chipmunk. It was a jungle in there. My husband and I made earnest resolutions to resist the bright, noisy, mechanical toys. While we didn’t go as far as friends who banned plastic and batteries altogether, we did our best. Another confession: Sometimes I simply don’t replace the dead batteries. I think of it as mercy killing. Worse, on occasion, batteries from an especially exuberant gizmo are extracted under the cover of night. This is the labor of the Battery Fairy, a merciful sprite who rewards parents. So, when the plastic zoo ceases to crow, roar, bark or yelp on its AA-powered own, or the only mildly educational singing “Alpha-bug” falls silent, our little one will have find his own voice, reciting the ABCs or his own critter chorus. Naturally, our goal as quality parents was and is to focus on toys that encourage interaction rather than those that rely on passive entertainment. We’ve read the books and know that his play is actually his work, that through play important learning is accomplished. Toys do more than entertain, and good toys do more than teach. They also reveal. Perhaps parental curiosity and impatience make us think that children’s toy choices say something not only about who they are in that moment, but who they’ll become in the future. I am reminded of the Korean tradition where, upon reaching the first birthday, the baby is dressed in traditional Korean clothing. The baby is then seated in front of an array of objects: thread, books, notebooks, brushes, ink and money that have all been given by friends and relatives. The baby is encouraged to choose one item from the display because custom suggests that that choice will reveal the child’s destiny. For example, if the child picks up a writing brush or book, he is destined to be a scholar. If she picks up money or rice, she will be wealthy. If he chooses a sword or bow, a military career awaits. If the child picks up the thread, he will live a long life. Like most parents, Korean parents want to know. Or maybe, as all of us, they require assurances about the security and happiness of their kids. My in-laws assured me early on that, while my husband and I (English teachers both) might desire a similar academic career for our son (for the record, we didn’t), he was actually destined to be a truck driver. Look how much he likes trucks and bulldozers, they exclaimed, as he crawled around the floor pushing one totemic yellow truck after another. They pointed out that their grandchild preferred the books such as “Mike Mulligan and his Steam Shovel,” “Trashy Town” and a well-worn picture book entitled “Diggers and Dumpers.” You might as well face it, they counseled, he’s going to be a Teamster. Teamster Baby had other plans. During a visit to his cousin’s house, he discovered dolls. Big dolls, little dolls, baby dolls, talking dolls, you get the picture. His 5-year-old cousin has, by her own count, 43 dolls residing happily in her bedroom, a hot pink shrine to Hello Kitty and the entire of harem of Disney princesses. My brother-in-law worried. Not about his daughter, but about my son. “Should he be playing with dolls?” he asked, watching the little guy tool around the living room pushing a dozen babies all squashed into one tiny stroller. “Why not?” my sister replied. “It’ll teach him how to be a father.” Ouch. She shot her spouse a suggestive look that implied he may have been better off had he counted to, say, 43, before launching that weird missile in the war of sexual politics. The next stage for our boy was enrollment in virtual culinary arts school. Mama noticed that her little guy liked nothing better than to parallel play with her while she cooked. She made potatoes on her grown-up stove and he “cooked” potatoes on the chair. Now late afternoons are spent creating such invisible delicacies as “apple soup” and “trout pizza.” Wolfgang Puck, watch out. Of course, these days, his summertime playtime curriculum vitae gets updated weekly, even hourly, to include anything involving water. But what about those toy trains, from “The Little Engine That Could,” and did, to the “Ballad of Casey Jones,” which he plays out, wreck and all, on his wooden locomotive and freight car set? No doubt our whimsical speculation about his future is off track. Fine. That particular toy or tool of destiny will likely turn out to be something we’ve overlooked entirely and, embarrassing or flattering us, he will point back to it, currently hidden in a corner or under his bed, as the singular predictor of his interests as an adult. For the present, we try to fill his life with reasonable if imaginative playthings, imagining we are giving him plenty from which to choose to play, and to read, cook, drive, draw, build and, like his two English teacher parents, teach...himself. Lisa Alvarez is an English professor at Irvine Valley College. |
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