Many of you have heard this story from me before, but…
I love the concept of the “happy accident.” Though I didn’t know the term, I remember an early manifestation of it in my life. In one of several elementary schools I attended, we did a Christmas gift exchange. Each child brought a gift labeled “girl” or “boy.” One child’s mother didn’t understand the concept, so we ended up with one less “girl” toy than we should have had, and since I was ridiculously shy and timid and so went last, that ended up as my toy.
It was a set of really, really cheap plastic cars. Cars that kids today would think were so NOT fun that you can’t even find any like them on eBay, or in dollar stores, or even in those packs of party favors with the cheapest toys ever. The cars were all one color plastic–blue, yellow, green, red–including the wheels, which were just part of the plastic mold for the car and didn’t move.
I LOVED them. My brother was older and had long since outgrown toys, which were so scarce in our tightly budgeted household that it had never occurred to anyone that I might like to play with toys that were traditionally considered for boys. They were easy to pack up and take anywhere and required only a little space and some imagination to entertain me for hours.
Even now, Hot Wheels or Matchbox cars, or even cheap cars like those pictured above, make me silly happy, and I’ll drive them around a while before I pass them on to the real kids in the family.
Today, baby, you can drive my car right into the HAPPY books by commenting with a page number between 1 and 611, and another number between 1 and 25. Sorry, kids, the Misery book is closed.