Toying With Life’s Greatest Moments
Some expected, but most unexpected
By Ron Ciancutti
It seemed like the coolest toy—a pair of walkie-talkies that would allow me to be in one place and talk to my buddy who was in a different place. I went through the Sears catalogue about 10 times, trying to figure out the proper balance between a quality set that was expensive and a toyish-looking, bright-red, cheap one that Mom would probably suggest. I mean, if I was going to be doing high-intensity spying and message translation, I needed the right tool. This was no kid’s game.
Photo: © Can Stock Photo / Joe_Photo
My parents did not disappoint. On Christmas morning, I received the set I wanted and immediately put the batteries in place. I handed one set to my dad and ran up the stairs to my room.
“Hello?” my dad said.
“Roger that, Papa 1,” I said.
“Please come down and help me clean up all this wrapping paper,” he responded.
My shoulders slumped. This wasn’t the message I wanted, but I “Rogered” that and said, “OK.”
I bagged all the Christmas morning debris. I threw my coat and boots on and hauled a few bags to the dumpster. I no sooner got the lid closed and the walkie-talkie went off again.
“Yeah, Mom—what’s up?”
“The dog needs to go out,” she said. “Come to the door and I’ll give you the leash to walk him.”
Now wait a minute. This was not what I had in mind. This was like being hired help under contract. I walked the dog and then saw Mom making breakfast.
“Run upstairs and ask your sisters if they want breakfast now or brunch later. I’ve got my ears on,” she smiled, dangling the other walkie-talkie in front of me.
The day wore on in much the same fashion. By evening, I informed the family that the batteries were dead. I was in no hurry to replace them either.
Decades later, people became very excited about cell phones. My supervisor at work said I should sign up to get a company phone when the sheet came around. I did everything I could to delay that ball and chain, but when the phone was finally issued, I recall having the same experience.
I guess people never see the obligation when their eyes are clouded by the potential fun side.
As I look back, there were a lot of things that we as gullible human beings were slow to catch on to.
Cartoon Craze
On December 6, 1964, Videocraft International, Ltd., released the stop-motion special Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer. At age four, I was over the moon for Rudolph. The puppets used in the film were cuddly with big, bright eyes and smiles, and, of course, one had a bright-red nose. All I wanted for Christmas was that reindeer. According to family lore, it was the only thing I talked about. My parents tore through catalogues and stuffed-animal advertisements, but there was no Rudolph on the market. In a desperate attempt to appease me, Mom found a holiday table display that included two, plush reindeer pulling a sleigh. She purchased the whole set and sewed a red button on the nose of one of the reindeer. When I opened the gift on Christmas morning, I was thrilled, although it looked nothing like the television Rudolph. When you’re four, I guess you roll with it a little easier.
Flash forward a couple decades and I’m filling my Christmas cart with each exact replica character from Toy Story for my son. I guess the American marketing aces had come quite a way since 1964, although I remember the nationwide supply of Buzz Lightyears was significantly underestimated, so the demand could not be fully met by Christmas Day. But, wow, what a difference. Here were toys dancing across the screen looking life-like and amazing, and the exact replicas were for sale at the local toy store. Ironically, the entire Rudolph line came out the following year. Everyone caught on to this trend. And yes, my mother bought the Rudolph replica for me as a half-joke, half-historic memory. BUT, it could never compare to my homemade Rudy that stayed close to me every night for a good three years and then stood watching me from my bookshelf for the following 10 years. And therein lies the lesson, dear friends. New and improved is not necessarily better. A ton of flashy features and “eye candy” can lure one in and bring a suggestion of short-term happiness, but if one is expecting the big bang in life to be store-bought, Steely Dan said it best: “You Can’t Buy a Thrill.”
A Sense Of Accomplishment
In 1977 my friends and I rebuilt a 1966 Plymouth Barracuda. I bought the car for a mere $150. When we got it running right (“three-on-the-tree” transmission), my buddy Roger painted the car candy-apple red with white trim. My friends dubbed it “Ron’s Rescue Wagon,” and I drove that little tiger for two years until I left for college, wrenching on it most weekends. When I cracked that hood, six spark plugs just looked at me.I could gap and change a set in 10 minutes.
I would never exchange the memories attached to that car for the luxury of a brand-new sports car. As I look back, that commitment becomes even stronger. When I was in high school, every other yard on a summer Saturday afternoon included young men circling the open hood of a jalopy, trying to make the engine run a little better, a little faster, with spare parts from the junkyard. The camaraderie, the sense of accomplishment in making that machine run a little better, the hope that the girls would notice my “ride”—these were the things dreams were made of. And there was no deception in the happiness that car brought.
No Comparison
I will turn 60 this year and can list significant moments over that time of which I’m proud, and that hold great memories, including graduations, ceremonies, honors, and other life events. But those planned and historic moments will never compare to the emotional hits I experienced when I heard the following words:
You’re hired.
Here’s your new puppy.
There’s no sign of cancer.
I love you, too.
I’m home.
Hey, look! It’s snowing.
I’m so proud of you.
I do.
Ron Ciancutti worked in the parks and recreation industry since he was 16 years old, covering everything from maintenance, operations, engineering, surveying, park management, design, planning, recreation, and finance. He is now retired. He holds a B.S. in Business from Bowling Green State University and an M.B.A. from Baldwin Wallace University. He is not on Facebook, but he can be reached at ron@northstarpubs.com.