Article and Art by Linnea Anderson
i never played, i tinkered. and now, i dream about toy stores. as a girl, i went to thinker toys and drooled over gears and switches and mazes packed up in cardboard boxes. at the counter, they’d ask you if it was a gift and they’d wrap it for you in bright, crisp paper. several varieties of hideous and obnoxious bright crisp paper tethered to the wall on large metal spools. you'd pick your favorite paper and they’d rip it down ceremoniously. you’d flinch at the sound of it. you’d see the cardboard box one last time before you bring it to the party. and then scotch tape. and then you pray on it.
oh, i hope they’ll like it.
and you leave thinker toys with a big bow and a receipt.
you loath your friend for being born on this day. because you’d wish it was your day and this box yours and you picked it out for yourself. you'd wish you could have every little thing from that store on the shelves in your bedroom. and you wish your mother would never tell you. it was enough.
that box with the obnoxious, bright, crisp paper would sit somewhere in your house. all wrapped up and obscured. and you’d think about how you could just wait until dark and maybe carefully peel the wrapping off and maybe tinker with it and maybe pretend someone broke in and robbed your house. \
but they only stole the gift from thinker toys.
you invented this scheme to tell your parents because thinker toys were all anyone ever wanted. every kid would have thinker toy wrapping paper on their gifts at the party and you’d think this is all i ever need. you’d leave the party with a goodie bag and think, thank god they had cake and goodie bags.
and still, you’d dream about the next time you’d get to shop for new clothes or the donut you’d get on friday and the candy at the grocery store on sunday and how halloween is coming up and you need a new costume and anna has a horse and a trampoline and i am just right here.
with the things i already have.
the tinkering made you act this way. the odd ways you tried to play. you were tactical. you had endless things to fiddle with and somehow you always used them all up. you did it on purpose. passively abiding by some rules you set for yourself. you made it already. played with it already. solved it already. you tinkered and then you were done. you never understood the rules. you never understood it was about play.
you never played the game.
still, you had all those tinker games from thinker toys lined up on your shelves. the ones that were never supposed to be out of plays.
perplexus. plaster clear sphere. yellow and gray tracks. a marble. numbers to follow. a start and finish line. the ball fell off? start again.
american girl dolls. outfits. fake food and fake animals. tremendous personalities and endless offbeat interpersonal relationships. dress them undress them. let them speak and sit them down.
couch cushions. stacked and pinched in the open door frame. bed with every single plush toy in the house. run down hall. jump crash through the cushions. find yourself in bed swallowed by all your childhood capital and your brother and your dad.
a brother. a deck of cards. tag. climb tree. bring jump rocket launcher to park.
a dad. up and down every water slide. day trip to anywhere we want. arcade. board game. sweet treat. story time.
anna. big green lawn. toy john denver. park nearby. lemonade stand. mexican wedding cakes. fashion show. basketball hoop. horse.
gran and grandad. big house and hex bugs and that new thing they found and brought home just for you to tinker with when mom and dad are gone and they feed you jelly beans and salmon for dinner. but all i want is a soda. dad always gets us sodas.
friends come easily because your life did. and they fight over you and pull you on the playground. and ur shoulders start to separate because everyone wants something that is as easy as you. you were a yes-girl. thats what mom called it. it was always yes, or sure, or thats ok, or fine. you could go along with it. for long enough.
other kids find all the little things to put together that were never supposed to be that way. and they make cakes out of mud and invent new games and you just go along with it because that’s being good. teachers call it well mannered. gran calls it generous.
brother calls it sister. friend calls it best friend.
mom calls it laid back. dad calls it nothing at all.
mom and dad were only down the hall and you wake up in the middle of the night and think i could just be there too. you’d walk down the little ramp in their room and you’d speak “dad” softly into the darkness. and you’d say it again because it was too soft the first time. and he was too soft too because he’d get up out of bed, leave the duvet folded over. he'd take the hall back to your bed and you’d get into his. moms alarm clock would tweet “here comes the sun” as it had for the past 20 years. and she’d say: good morning: wake up: time for school.
you go to school for fifteen more years. you keep tinkering. and it all starts to contort and dry up and fester.
i’m sorry i’m so rotten now, ill try to wash it off.
things start to unravel and you can’t sleep because it’s itching you and your brain doesn’t like you the same as it once did in the days you frequented thinker toys.
now, i dream about toy stores.
i think tomorrow, ill go to thinker toys and buy something and tell them its a present. and ill rip the wrapping paper away and tear at the box and let everything little piece of my new gadget fly and scatter across the floor of my room. i'll rip apart the manual and engineer some new way to play with it. i'll build it wrong and take it apart and throw it on the ground for good measure. i’ll hate it but i’ll learn to love it.
isn’t that why we play?
