My parents always said the same thing when they bought us a new toy: “Follow the instructions and you won’t get hurt.” If you’re a regular reader of this column, you already know normally we didn’t and someone always did.
The following is a short list of just some of the toys that caused injuries because my three brothers, The Sister, and I didn’t follow instructions during those seven years we spent growing up at 110 Flamingo Street.
As painful as those injuries were, they pale in comparison to what this writer experienced last weekend. It seems Mom and Dad’s advice is still warranted even today: Follow the instructions and you won’t get hurt. I didn’t and I did. What toy inflicted so much pain in the middle of the night? That’s the end of this story. Here’s the beginning.
First up: Tinker Toys. Since 1916, these wooden construction sets of wheels and sticks let a kid’s imagination run free. If we imagined it, we built it – that is, until we got bored. That’s when the running actually started. Those wooden wheels, sticks, couplings, and spools became devastating projectiles. Trust me, getting hit in the arm with a coupling or taking a wheel to the head makes a lasting impression.
Making another lasting impression on kids from the sixties was one of the most despised toys of them all: the Bo-Lo paddle. Bouncing this seemingly harmless little red ball on the end of a rubber string attached to a nine-inch wooden paddle gave us hours of fun.
When we got bored bouncing the ball against the paddle, we’d run through the house bouncing the ball against each other. So was the start of the now infamous Bo-Lo Wars. The wars only ended when the ball broke loose from the rubber string or Dad came in because of all the fighting. That’s when he found a new use for the wooden paddle. Trust me, it wasn’t fun.
Another bouncing toy we enjoyed: the pogo stick. Bouncing for hours up and down Flamingo Street would’ve been safe, if that’s all we had done — which it wasn’t. Nowhere was it written in the instructions that you couldn’t bounce and jump over your three brothers and The Sister. It should’ve been. And that’s what I told Dad as he was climbing into our green station wagon with the faux wood panels on the way to the hospital. Seems the limit on pogo jumping across kids lying on the ground is three.
A few other toys that had instructions we didn’t follow were:
• The Johnny Reb Cannon, a cannon that actually shot plastic balls 30 feet. (The injuries from this one are too long to list).
• Satellite Jumping Shoes that advertised they could help develop coordination and balance — unless, of course, you used them to jump out of a tree house. Yep, wasn’t one of the smartest things we ever did, but “we” didn’t do it; Twin Brother Mark did.
So what toy has inspired this painful column? Why, none other than the Lego brick. The little plastic bricks provide endless creativity and fun for children of most any age. Newly designed in 1958 so they would interlock, they’ve become a staple for any daycare. At Grumpy Grandpa’s Daycare, we have about 1,000 Lego bricks in four large baskets and, after our two granddaughters are asleep for the night, I spend half an hour picking up and putting away every last one of them – almost.
Last weekend, in the middle of the night, when I was on my way to check covers on Little One and Sweet Caroline, I discovered something: Small Lego bricks aren’t just hazardous if swallowed. Trust me, you haven’t experienced pain until you’ve stepped on one while barefooted.
Next week is the neighborhood yard sale. I have four large baskets of Lego bricks to sell to the highest bidder. I’m gonna use the proceeds to buy safer toys for the girls and me – soft foam building blocks.
So what instructions didn’t I follow? Just before bed, The Wife said, “Make sure you pick up all of them. You don’t want to step on one.”
[Rick Ryckeley, who lives in Senoia, served as a firefighter for more than two decades and has been a weekly columnist since 2001. His email is [email protected]. His books are available at www.RickRyckeley.com.]
