It has always mystified me how something can quickly fall from the very top of a Christmas or birthday list to the absolute depths of disdain — and the back of a closet. During the past fifteen years I’ve watched our children repeatedly obsess about some item they swore they couldn’t live without, only to abandon their affection for the desired object with astonishing swiftness. Sometimes the entire transition is completed in less than a day. The process is often peppered with back-and-forth discussions, beginning with a pathetic bit of parental logic (“But you’ve been saying for months that you wanted this”) and ending with the child’s final judgment: “Well, it’s a piece of junk.”
In the case of an electronic device, all it takes to render the thing useless is for the child’s friend to get one with more gigabytes. Or higher megapixels. Or better graphics. If Brandon gets a new iPod that holds eight thousand songs, my son suddenly feels claustrophobic with room for only thirty-five hundred.
“Are there even eight thousand songs in the whole world?” I ask.
“It isn’t just songs,” he answers, stunned by my ignorance. “It’s movies, photos, videos, games…”
“But this is the iPod you wanted, and you insisted that you couldn’t wait.”
“Can we please just forget it?” he yells, as though the conversation had been my idea.
And so it goes, both sides utterly confounded by the other’s inability to understand. In these days right after Christmas, I can almost hear the disagreements as they erupt in homes all across the continent. It seems to be part of our nature to appreciate things while we’re wanting them, and then lose that appreciation soon after we get them. Most things just aren’t as great as we’d imagined. Almost nothing is as great as the advertisers told us they would be.
Here’s just one example. An old one.
When I was ten, there was a brand new toy called Pretzel-Jetzel: “The Jet-Age Pretzel Making Toy.” It was similar to Suzy Homemaker in many ways, except it appealed more to boys, I guess because the finished product was salty and rough rather than sweet and soft. You mixed a powder with water to create the batter, which you poured into a mold. Then you sprinkled salt on top and sent the molds through the plastic bakery on a conveyor belt, where the pretzels would be cooked to perfection by a hundred-watt light bulb. The baker on the box promised it would make “Zenzational Pretzels!” (The baker was apparently supposed to be German, so having him say “Zenzational” gave him an air of authenticity. Also, the words “Jet-Age” meant that this was the most advanced pretzel making system anywhere, and would meet the kind of rigid specifications required by NASA and other high-tech snacking organizations.)
I wanted a Pretzel-Jetzel more than I wanted to breathe. The very idea that I could whip up a batch of delicious hot pretzels any time I wanted almost made my brain explode. And when I unwrapped that huge box on Christmas morning in 1965 and caught a glimpse of the name, I was close to having an out-of-body experience. Looking back now, it seems likely that I got a few other gifts that year, but I have no idea what they were. I could think of nothing but pretzels. All I needed was a light bulb and I was in business.
But my parents didn’t have a hundred-watt light bulb anywhere in the house. And it was Christmas. Back then, nothing was open on Christmas Day. Nothing. Except, of course, church. My mind raced with a scheme designed to get the bulb. All we had to do was go to church. I was an altar boy, and knew where everything was stored. Then we could return the light bulb after we’d bought our own. Would that be stealing? I wasn’t sure. Stealing was a sin, but I’d be in church, and could do a quick confession on my way out. The problem was, I’d already been to church that day, so there was no way of putting my plan into action without arousing suspicion. (“What are you saying? You forgot to say some of your prayers, and you want to go back?”)
Why didn’t my mother just buy a hundred-watt light bulb when she bought the Pretzel-Jetzel? It says right on the front of the box, LIGHT BULB NOT INCLUDED. She said she hadn’t noticed. I was confused by this, but let it go.
We bought a light bulb the next day and raced home. I mixed up a batch of batter, poured it into the mold, and started up the conveyor belt. The molds began to move into the bakery, and after a few endless minutes, emerged at the other end. I looked closely. The pretzels were an unexpected color. They weren’t brown and salty. They were a sickening tan color, and filled with pinholes, which I guess were caused by popping air bubbles. It reminded me of pictures I’d seen of hardened lava. After waiting for the pretzels to cool, I popped one out of its tray. It looked tiny, even in the hands of a ten-year-old, and a far cry from the stack of pretzels shown on the box. The baker had promised mouth-watering, crunchy pretzels. I was beginning to believe this guy wasn’t a baker at all. Or even German.
I bit into one. It tasted like a cooked pencil. If I had been confused by my mother’s failure to buy a light bulb, I was completely bewildered by this. How could a toy company be so dishonest? Wasn’t that a sin? How could they say this thing was like having your own pretzel factory? These things were nothing like any pretzel I’d ever eaten. I tried to feed one to our cat and she ran away, and didn’t return for two days.
When my father came home from work, he asked me how I liked my Jetzel-Pretzel. “It’s a Pretzel-Jetzel,” I told him, “and it’s a piece of junk.” He resorted to that pathetic bit of parental logic: “But you’ve been saying for months that you wanted this.” I handed him one of the pretzels to taste.
“Isn’t it zenzational?” I asked.
He never mentioned the Pretzel-Jetzel again. No one did. And I learned, a little too late, that I really could live without it.
Allan Douglas
December 27, 2010
Oh… been there, done that, Charles, from both sides of the fence. I could tell tales, but it’s pretty much the same story you just told, so I’ll just say “Yeah – what you said!”
Another great story!
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bronxboy55
December 28, 2010
I guess we all have, Allan. Is that how we end up with the clutter?
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Allan Douglas
December 28, 2010
LOL Yessir, I believe it is. Research is our FRIEND!
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Priya
December 27, 2010
I suppose by the time we (my brother and I) were growing up, the values had twisted further. We’d been discussing our fascination for the microscopic life for weeks before my father borrowed a basic, ancient microscope for us. The excitement must’ve lasted exactly a week. After that, the poor device lay in one corner for months, gathering dust. I still feel a little heat building up my neck. I think it is embarrassment. (But to be fair, that one week of microscopic indulgence was quite something. Rad, in today’s lingo).
ps. The pretzels tasting like cooked pencil must’ve been devastating for that second. Did you enjoy the process, though?
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bronxboy55
December 28, 2010
It’s an interesting question: Is the rapturous anticipation worth the disappointment that follows? I wonder if there’s some way to consciously hold onto the excitement, rather than that let-down feeling. We had a microscope, too, and a chemistry set. And we probably left them behind as quickly as you and your brother did.
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Amiable Amiable
December 27, 2010
I’m having horrible flashbacks about giving my children gifts at Christmas that required batteries and, like your mother, I overlooked the “Batteries Not Included” note on the boxes. But in fairness to parents everywhere, do toy manufactures not make it extremely difficult to find that all important message? However, parents can be sure that those friends and family without kids never have any problem seeing that little type and supplying the needed batteries for those gifts of toys that make obnoxious noises.
I feel your pain with the pretzel machine. I’m reminded of edible Creepy Crawlers. They were disgusting to look at and ingest, but burning our fingers on the molds made us forget about the taste. I have to imagine that the pretzel lightbulb may have been conducive to burns, too. Toy manufacturers must be vindictive adults who didn’t get the toys (or batteries and lightbulbs) they wanted for Christmas.
P.S. LOVE the title of this post, of course!
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bronxboy55
December 28, 2010
I still get a warm feeling when I buy a toy for someone and it says “Batteries Included” on the box. I think, “How thoughtful!” I really do. But, yes, anyone giving your kids noisy toys will always remember to pick up some batteries, if necessary. That way they get to witness your pain as they scramble out the door.
We had a toy called “Incredible Edibles.” Is that the one you had? Spiders and worms in psychedelic colors? Those were the days, AA!
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Amiable Amiable
December 28, 2010
Yes, psychedelic colored spiders and worms and flavors like rootbeer! Yup, those were the days.
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Marie M
December 27, 2010
My gosh, bronxboy–I’m still susceptible to this syndrome. How sad! However, at my ripe old age, I notice that I am getting just a little bit better at sometimes catching myself before actually purchasing the item in question. The wanting is a societal, cultural condition, I think . . . . and it takes energy to fight against the tide!
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bronxboy55
December 28, 2010
There’s a newly-discovered voice in my head, too, and it tells me to think ahead past the excited moment of acquisition to that longer period of disappointment. It’s a much less joyful process, this second-guessing, but also less expensive. I sometimes walk around a store for an hour or more, picking up one item at a time. Then, without really deciding to, I reverse the film and put things back, and leave the store empty-handed. Whenever that happens I feel somewhat proud of myself, and also a little odd.
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Marie M
December 29, 2010
OK, I’ll give you proud, but I also have to give you odd! Can’t wait for the store camera-watchers to notice your little ritual, and interview you about it. Let us know how that goes. And don’t let them calling you out rob you of your satisfaction at leaving the store with the same amount of money you went in with.
Also, I realized that at work here in my new occasional restraint is a very important question: where will I put this new acquisition? I have heard of those amazing people who always delete from their lives an old item if a new item comes in, but I could never, ever do that if I had to begin from where I am. If I lost everything and had to start over? I might have a fighting chance to keep my possessions to a minimum. And they would probably mean more, too. Not that I’m wishing for a catastrophe; just thinking about the “up side” should this one occur.
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bronxboy55
December 30, 2010
Even deleting one item to compensate for the new one coming in doesn’t really change anything — unless you’re acquiring something small and getting rid of something big. My little ritual usually takes place in the bookstore, because I remember (yet again) that I already have more books than I could ever read.
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Jac
December 27, 2010
Did you remember that we had actually found the Pretzel-Jetzel before Christmas in that downstairs room that had drapes for a door? I bet neither one of us confessed that! I can still remember what those pretzels smelled like when they were “baking”… I think Michael’s Tony the Pony was way more fun than that machine.
I was shaking my head in disbelief when a couple of hours after opening their gifts this year, my son and grandson were playing with some old matchbox cars. It’s the great circle of life.
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bronxboy55
December 28, 2010
I did remember that we’d discovered the Pretzel-Jetzel, but I was too ashamed to admit it. I was wondering if you’d remember. Still, we weren’t sure in whose hands it would end up. And was the pretzel factory for all of us? If so, and you’d like to buy me out, I would consider any reasonable offer.
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shoreacres
December 28, 2010
If I’d known you, I’d have invited you over to bake with me. I had the best-ever little kitchen with tiny pans and box mixes that made about a half-cup of batter. There were 4″ pie plates and cake pans, and muffin tins that held muffins only an inch across. They were baked in the regular oven, though – with mom’s help, of course – and took something like 10 minutes for the cakes and 15 for the pies. I still remember rolling out my pie crusts on the seat of a chair. I loved that set, and the desserts were good!.
But here’s what’s almost embarrassing. I can’t remember a toy I was disappointed in. There must have been something. The beauty of it’s that the process of trying to remember has brought back toys I’d forgotten: tiddly-winks, pick-up sticks, Mr. Potato Head, tinker toys, a scooter, a trike, finger paints, paint by number, a rocking chair, a Bozo the Clown nightlight…. On and on. The best ever was my set of Halsam American Plastic Bricks. They’re still in the closet. Nobody gets those away from me.
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bronxboy55
December 28, 2010
I’m sure your cakes and muffins were delicious, baked as they were in a conventional, grown-up oven. But nothing says Christmas like a house filled with the aroma of melting plastic and singed fingertips. And now your comment has reminded me of the superhero and monster models I had as a boy. That just might be another post. (Speaking of singed fingertips, did you ever have a woodburning kit?)
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dearrosie
December 28, 2010
BB you’re a skillful writer. I love the way you built up the suspense to the first dreadful bite. Oh my word I can’t imagine a pretzel that tasted of a pencil.
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bronxboy55
December 28, 2010
But a mouth-watering, crunchy pencil.
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souldipper
December 28, 2010
My disappointment was a “Flying Saucer”. I imagined the delight of spinning my way down a very steep hill like a mini UFO and slithering the last 2 blocks faster than a speeding bullet. The reality? Speed, for sure, but with no mechanism to steer in any way. After three disasterous attempts to recreate the picture that seduced me beyond measure, my mother’s trepidation somehow caused it to disappear at warp speed. I never confessed my relief!
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bronxboy55
December 28, 2010
I guess kids had imaginations back then, and we were supposed to fill in that gap between what the marketing people told us and what actually came out of the package. Remember the prizes hidden inside cereal boxes? They were hardly worth the search.
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Betty Londergan
December 28, 2010
This is a heartbreaking story!! I burst out laughing at your brain almost exploding with joy at the very IDEA of having crusty hot pretzels whenever you wanted — that’s such a perfect description of being a kid at Christmas! Hope you had a great one — and isn’t it great not to want anything that much anymore, except for a good night’s sleep? Ah age … makes old fogeys of all of us eventually!
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bronxboy55
December 28, 2010
A good night’s sleep and some peace and quiet.
But I seriously doubt you’ll ever be an old fogey.
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cooperstownersincanada
December 28, 2010
I remember when I was six years old I just had to have a remote control R2-D2. I got one and it broke on the same day I got it. I never did fix it. It’s kind of a sad comment about us that our interests are so fickle. This is another excellent piece though! It really made me think. Thanks for sharing this.
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bronxboy55
December 28, 2010
I wonder if this trait is similar to that of people who go fishing, then throw back whatever they catch. They enjoy the act of fishing, but not necessarily the fish.
Thanks, Kevin. I always appreciate hearing from you.
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Barbara Murray
December 28, 2010
Ever since I read this earlier, I’ve been trying to remember some gift I desperately wanted, and was disappointed by. I can think of none (though, in a nod to your pretzels, I will confess that I bought an EZ Bake Oven for my daughters, and after the 100 watt lightbulb produced one ‘cake’ about as tasty as your pretzel, I packed that baby up and took it right back to ToysRUs.)
The agony that I remember is over the one thing I desperately wanted and could not persuade my mother to buy: white go-go boots, like the dancers in cages wore on Hullabaloo and Shindig. No amount of begging or pleading would cause my mother to budge.
But twenty-five years later, I was standing in a shoe store with my daughter when a gleaming white pair of boots nearly jumped off the shelf into my arms. My daughter eyed them coolly, as I insisted that she really did want them, didn’t she? She pranced around the store in them and, for a few moments, I was mentally transported to my go-go cage. I wrapped them up in the tissue paper in the box and brought them home.
They gathered dust in the closet for years, but I loved them anyway.
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bronxboy55
December 29, 2010
I sense a gap between your last two sentences. Did you ever put the boots on? (I assume you didn’t have a go-go cage, but maybe you slipped into them for just one dance?)
My own unfulfilled childhood desires include a Frosty Sno-Cone Machine, which I have already mentioned far too many times on this blog. But do you remember him? You’d put ice cubes into his hat, turn the crank, and he would make snow, which you would remove using a red plastic shovel. Then you’d put the snow into a paper cup and squirt flavored syrup over it. I never got one, but my cousin did. What I learned at his expense was that the snow was like white cotton candy — with pretty much the same density. When we squirted the flavored syrup, the stuff collapsed back to its original ice cube size. I guess they lied, too.
Here’s the commercial:
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Barbara
December 29, 2010
That is hysterical- maybe I could find some old Hullabaloos online too?
No the tiny boots did not fit my feet, and they sat in the closet because my daughter did not feel as passionately about them as I did, so she didn’t wear them much, though I enjoyed them vicariously when she did.
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Marie M
December 29, 2010
You know what, Barbara? Whether those boots fit you or not, I think it’s great that you got them for yourself–I mean, for your daughter–anyway, precisely because they brought you so much pleasure, even decades later. You mightn’t have appreciated them quite as much if you’d received them as a child. Hold on to the warm, fuzzy feeling of that go-go cage!
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Val Erde
December 29, 2010
Mmm… poor you, I can imagine your disappointment when the whole caboodle ended up tasting like a cooked pencil (though it begs the question – how many cooked pencils have you eaten, to know what they taste like?)
As a kid I always wanted a toy typewriter than really typed but all I was ever offered was a typewriter with a fake and useless paper keyboard. I carried on wanting… then got a real one, then the next model, then a wordprocessor and now I’ve got a Pc and want a newer one. It never really stops, all this stupidity!
–
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bronxboy55
December 30, 2010
It never does stop, Val. And you know what? Speaking of pencils, I’ve gone back to writing with them. Though I must confess, I’ve never cooked or eaten one. Thanks for the comment!
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Jessica Sieghart
January 2, 2011
I can’t say I’ve ever wanted anything, toy or not, related to cooking. Not my thing 😉 However, I remember being very disappointed with a detective kit that I had wanted so badly for a long time. It had a magnifying glass and some fingerprinting materials and I was about 10 and hooked on Nancy Drew. This was my chance to be a detective! Sure nothing would ever escape me, I opened that kit on Christmas and I couldn’t wait to get started. It only took an hour or so to realize with disappointment that not much crime was happening in my house and I didn’t even know any bad guys to fingerprint to compare my findings. Well, I didn’t think I knew any bad guys. As it turned out, I actually did and one of my neighbors would shortly be discovered to be one of the most infamous “bad guys” ever…John Wayne Gacy. That’s another story, though! I don’t think my detective skills at that time would have been much assistance with that, but the whole thing horrified/ inspired/intrigued me into studying law enforcement and human behavior and the first time I rolled a bad guy’s prints for real, I actually remembered that detective kit and it made me smile.
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bronxboy55
January 3, 2011
I’m glad there wasn’t much crime being committed in your house, and equally glad you didn’t run into that neighbor. If you ever decide to write an autobiography, I’d like to pre-order a copy. In fact, I can imagine a series of them, each with a different theme. You could be a boxed set all by yourself. And then the reality show would follow, or a daytime talk show. Really, I can see it.
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Jessica Sieghart
January 3, 2011
I’d have to learn to like the sound of my speaking voice before I could do a talk show. I sound like a heavily Chicago accented Minnie Mouse. One of my bloggy buddies used to host a show on BlogTalk Radio and I called in time. My voice was the talk of my little blogosphere community at the time. 😉 Who knows, maybe that would add to the interest!
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cr8df8
January 4, 2011
Oooh, disappointing gifts. Those were rare in my household because my family has an incredible knack for knowing when “enough is enough” (as in: you want that, buy it yourself because you are going to break it/hate it/regret it) and for finding off-the-wall, one of a kind gifts that we always love even though we never even knew we wanted that. But one year my sister and I both knew what we had to have or we would both spontaneously combust & die: Sea Monkeys.
We knew for sure that royal family would come grace our home with their sea monkey antics. Alas, no smiling sea monkeys. Just disappointing nude squiggles that looked NOTHING like the picture. Even my parents were disgusted. My sister and I soldiered on, though. We continued to feed them whatever it was sea monkeys ate and watched as they died off, one by one, never becoming the fantabulous sea monkey family we had hoped.
Lord, please give me the memory capacity to buy batteries for my daughter’s gifts that need them. Amen.
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bronxboy55
January 4, 2011
We got the sea monkeys, too! I had forgotten about those. And yes, big disappointment. I think they were really just tiny shrimp, weren’t they?
Thanks for the comment. I’m off to visit your blog.
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Mitch
January 4, 2011
You know, I always wondered if those Easy Bake Oven cakes tasted good or not, but I refused to try one. I’d never heard of the pretzel maker, which tells me it had to have come after I was an adult.
Now, the one thing I wanted because I thought it was be really cool was a microscope. I got one, looked at everything I wanted to on day one, and I think I might have used it twice more before it fell into total disuse. How our parents put up with us is anyone’s guess.
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bronxboy55
January 4, 2011
Pretzel-Jetzel came out in 1965, so you weren’t an adult — you were too young. I don’t know how long that thing lasted, but it just couldn’t have been more than a year or two. Really, I can’t imagine anybody recommending it to their friends.
I had a microscope, too. It came with a few prepared slides, and those were enough to get me through the novelty stage; then it was up on the closet shelf. But then I took Biology in high school and for some reason I really liked watching those single-celled guys swimming around. It’s a whole world that we forget is there.
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Aruvqan
August 5, 2011
LOL I also grew up in the 60s … we had the snoopy sno-cone machine, the ex bake oven, the pretzel jetzel, a cotton candy maker and the thingmaker with the bugs and little army guys, and really hippie flowers both plastic goop and edible goops. We also had the big chemistry set, a huge bin of lincoln logs, the big erector set with all the goodies and all the hot wheels stuff. I was never into dolls so I avoided the whole barbie clutter =)
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bronxboy55
September 3, 2011
Sounds as though we had the same childhood.
Thanks for the comment — sorry it took me so long to reply.
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Prudence
October 14, 2011
Last year we broke down and bought our daughter a drum set. For five years our daughter had begged for one, but we held out to see just how serious she was. Well, we gave her the drum set for Christmas last year, and after playing it for only a handful of times, it now collects dust in the corner of her bedroom. 🙂
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bronxboy55
October 18, 2011
You no longer have to listen to her begging, and you don’t have to listen to her drumming. I don’t know how much drums cost, but it sounds as though it might have been a bargain.
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