February 8, 2006

Toy box menagerie overruns room

By
Herald Editor

      Like most fathers of young children, I detest Elmo. My disdain has nothing to do with his shrill voice or diabolical laugh. He simply takes up too much toy box space.
      The overflowing toy box - an obligatory icon of early childhood. No exception to the rule, our daughter's room remains a rabid menagerie of stuffed animals. Lions, tigers and, oh my, more bears than a city dump in Alaska.
      Unfortunately, spading or neutering can't control the polyfoam-filled population.
      Christmas, birthdays and well-meaning relatives also contribute to the pet problem. Before Ella was born, her bedroom was filled with cute cats, adorable dogs and precious pandas. Many of these cuddly critters have seen less light of day than convicted serial killers.
      However, there are a few lucky ones that belong to an inner circle know simply as The Friends.
      - Baby Emma, a doll from France that boit et fait pipi. Yes, she's that pretentious.
      - Rocky and Jerry. Two inseparable stuffed monkeys who traveled with us out west this summer. After four airplane flights and one railroad ride, I'm sure they're on every Homeland Security profile list.
      - Blue Bunny, Mama Bunny and Giraffe. A triumvirate to rival the Three Stooges or Marx Brothers.
      There are a few others that fall in and out of Friends favor. They often get to ride in the minivan carseat for a day or two. Perhaps they enjoy a weekend trip to the grandparents. However, they all end up unceremoniously at the bottom of the toy box; fighting for breathing space with Mr. Potato Head and Always Half-Naked Barbie.
      Then there is the sad fate of Lion who took one-too-many trips on spin cycle. His once proud mane now reduced to a lunch lady hairnet coiffure caricature. I think Ella is embarrassed to bring him out in public.
      Sadly, I have no one to blame for this overstuffed animal quandary but myself. A 35-year-old man shouldn't admit this, but I'm a recovered critter collector. My childhood was filled with stuffed creatures great and small. Every night my bed was filled with a contingent capable of sinking Noah's ark.
      To this day, lurking in the basement is a storage box full of old Friends. Floppy-head dog, a clown of freaky mental anguish proportions and - of course - Winnie the Pooh. The last still bears childhood scars of being dragged around the garage floor. Although he was sent to the dry cleaners, Pooh remained in a perpetual state of dirtiness; like me through third grade.
      It is the boy-Garret that I try to recall when I stumbled over Bob the Tomato at 11:30 p.m. in an unlit hallway.
      I know that all too soon our daughter will outgrow her Friends. So I resist the urge to cull the critter overflow. After all, Pull-My-Batteries-Out Elmo seems satisfied with life at the bottom of the toy box.
      Grand Traverse Herald editor Garret Leiva can be reached at 933-1416 or email gleiva@gtherald.com