Toys, toys, toys: Such whimsical, magical things, ones that evoke that glorious moment when children bounce downstairs, rip off the wrapping paper and light up with joy.
This is not about that. This is about the dark side of Christmas, the evil nature of modern-day toys.
Remember Lincoln Logs? They came in a nice, simple container. No assembly by parents required. Kids could play with them by themselves.
This, alas, is not what kids want for Christmas, 2004. Lincoln Logs (sigh) are lame.
No, kids want toys that are packaged in boxes with 472 tiny twist-ties, which are then covered in tape, the tape tucked under flaps that are mercilessly glued down. They want toys with thousands of pieces so small that a vacuum cleaner bag might as well be included in the box, because that's where they'll end up anyway. They want toys more complicated to assemble than a space shuttle.
They want toys that drive their parents — with nonstop, door-to-door service — to the funny farm.
Maybe it seemed like a good idea when you were in Toys R Us, braving the chaos. Aisle 2: shrieking ambulance noises; Aisle 9: rows and rows of Bratz smirking at you with attitude; Aisle 243 (yes, it's bigger than Dulles) preschool karaoke.
At home, though, it becomes toy trauma, which is the true ghost of Christmas present in households with little people. Parents everywhere find themselves asking two questions:
Why on Earth did I get myself into this?
And: What unknown evil lurks in my future, thanks to the purchasing impulses of my naive, childless siblings and friends, who are probably, at this very moment, blissfully buying something even worse?
You know these toys. These are the ones that break the day they arrive. (Why is it never the loud ones that break?) These are the ones that start talking at 3 a.m. because the battery is dying, and you can't get the battery cover off, so you stick the toy under the couch, only you can still hear the damn thing, so eventually you just throw it out the window into the yard.
Get the eggnog. Get the brandy. Because these, my friends, are the toys that we hate.
Barbie and all her accouterments — This isn't about her overly large bust and exceedingly long legs and all that usual nonsense. This is about what Barbie represents: the evil of accessories. Barbie, you see, comes with tons of teensy-tiny parts. Little shoes. Little hairbrushes. Little mirrors. Little makeup cases. And each and every one of these little pieces is individually taped, twist-tied, glued-down and encased in plastic. Think it's difficult to open a CD case? That's nothing. Unpacking a Barbie requires tweezers, patience and the willingness to incur severe injury to your thumbs.
And once you think you've gotten all the parts free — voilà! — there are minuscule, clear (read: invisible) rubber bands lurking everywhere, holding tight to the miniature high heels that never, ever, stay on Barbie's feet. These are the shoes that get lost in the sofa, lost in the carpet and wind up in closer contact with your feet than the doll's.
Perhaps the most hideous of the Barbie contraptions is the Barbie Airplane, dubbed "Hair Force One" by one miserable daddy. It comes with Coke cans and serving trays and a drink trolley. It comes with a coffee pot and mugs. It even comes with ice — so tiny you can't really see it, but you certainly feel it when you step on it in a darkened kitchen at 1 a.m.
ESPN Game Station by Fisher-Price — Put it together and a child can play six different games. Baseball! Basketball! Football! Golf! Hockey! Soccer! What's not to love?
Did we mention that you have to put it together?
This toy — for kids 5 and up — has 87 steps to assembly. Yes. EIGHTY-SEVEN. The instruction manual exceeds 100 pages. It requires an electric screwdriver, a PhD in physics and about seven nights dedicated to its construction. Rumor has it that there is a dad out there who put it together in three hours flat. Do not believe this. This man, whoever he is, is obviously inflating his toy-building skills. Assembling this toy is like assembling an Ikea wardrobe with the instructions in Swedish.
Kids' plastic cameras — These are toys that are supposed to take real pictures but almost never do. They do not break after a week, or five days, or even an afternoon. This is the type of toy that almost never works. We know of no one who has purchased one of these and gotten actual, visible photographs. We know of many who have watched the film jam, tear, refuse to feed. The film is developed and comes out blank. We know of many children who have cried over this toy. We also know parents who broke down and bought a real digital camera for a 6-year-old as a result.
Karaoke machines — Remember how sweet it was to listen to your little one singsonging "This Land Is Your Land" and "Jingle Bells"?
This toy turns that lovely little warble into a grating, shrill noise, complete with repeated, deafening, high-pitched microphone shrieks. The little ones will love it. This is definitely a present from the fabulously fun uncle with no inclination toward having children of his own. He's great! He's cool! He sings "I Saw Mommy Kissing Santa Claus" at the top of his lungs!
Talking books — They come in many forms. "Sesame Street." "Barney." "Winnie the Pooh." "Dora the Explorer." "Finding Nemo." Push the buttons and they'll talk, or they'll sing. Loudly. Very loudly. So loudly that the Sight & Hearing Association has multiple examples on its 2004 Noisy Toys List, noting that some exceed 100 decibels. Merry Christmas! Now you're deaf.
Bopit — Yep, it's still out there. Still screaming out directions, punctuated with drums, cymbals, whistles, you name it. Remember how cool it was when you were a kid? Yeah? Well remember how it kept getting mysteriously misplaced? Your parents were hiding it. Trust us on this.
Leap Frog Leap Pad — Oh, it's a fabulously well-intentioned gift. Helps the child learn, helps the child read, makes you feel as if you're encouraging your child's education. This is such a fabulously reviewed, useful and smart toy that you're happy to pay for it, happy when you wrap it, happy right up until your child opens it, puts it aside and looks for the next box to savage. This is the toy that will taunt you from the playroom shelf as it sits there. And sits there. And sits there. This is the toy that gathers dust.
FunSlides Carpet Skates — Put 'em on and it's like sliding across freshly waxed hardwood floors in your socks. Only faster. The warnings say not to use them near the stairs. How many kids read warning labels? Directions to the nearest emergency room not included.
Permanent Magic Markers — Please. Do we really have to explain?
GameBoy — This is the beginning of the end, the starter toy in the lifetime slide toward PlayStation and Xbox. These are the toys that are taking precious greenbacks from your kids' college funds and that you suspect, deep down, are sucking points off your child's IQ from the moment he or she sets eyes on the box. You watch your child stare at it, and you imagine his brain going to rot, his eyesight deteriorating. You shudder. Then it dawns on you that this evil toy does have a fringe benefit. Kids like to play it in their rooms. Alone. For hours.
And on the day after Christmas, what parent doesn't need a little of that?