Month: February 2022

Toy Story Moments

~ Kelly Wolf ~ 2 Comments

The first time I saw a toy come to life, I was eight years old. As a child, I was highly imaginative and extremely sensitive, and as such, I was certain my toys – especially the stuffed animals – were alive, had a complex range of emotions, and were simply waiting for the right time to reveal their true nature to me.

As I lay in bed one night, I detected motion in my peripheral vision, coming from the corner of the room where I kept my stuffed animals. My heart skipped a beat as I looked over and confirmed that, indeed, the animals were moving. Then, right before my mystified little eyes, my stuffed unicorn took a step forward! And my eight-year-old brain erupted.

OH WOW OH WOW MY TOYS ARE ALIVE I ALWAYS KNEW IT THIS IS SO AMAZING WHAT HAPPENS NEXT WILL THEY SPEAK TO ME DO I SPEAK TO THEM WHAT SHOULD I SAY?????

But before I had a chance to say anything, my cat Tory jumped out from behind the stuffed animals, sat down, and began licking a paw, casual as could be, as if she hadn’t just crushed a little girl’s dreams into dust.

Hmph.

The second time I saw a toy come to life was much later, when I was in my mid-20s and living in Santa Cruz, California. It was a weekend morning, and I was washing dishes and gazing out the window when I noticed some movement on the windowsill, where JR had arranged a bunch of action figures he’d recently purchased at a yard sale. I dropped my gaze and watched with wide, alarmed eyes as Darth Vader walked along the windowsill, then pitched himself over the edge and into the soapy water.

Since I was no longer eight years old, my initial reaction was more like: Am I drunk? No, I just woke up. What the hell was that? But beneath all the layers of cynicism I’d gathered since childhood, there was still a tiny part of me that gleefully squeaked, See? I always knew toys were alive!

Then JR’s voice shouted, “Get in the doorway, Sweetie!” and I spun around to see him braced in the kitchen door frame. Only then did I realize it was an earthquake, not a spark of life, that had sent Darth Vader bopping across the windowsill and into the sink.

I searched for “soapy Darth Vader,” and this came up for some reason. Now my life will not be complete until I get to fly in a Vader head hot air balloon.

So there ya have it, folks – two incidents in which my MAGIC IS REAL! bubble was inflated, then popped immediately by a hard dose of boring reality.

(Although I suppose earthquakes aren’t really that boring.)

(Also, I’m still pretty sure toys are alive.)

When Dad Was in Charge of My Social Life

~ Kelly Wolf ~ 5 Comments

I grew up in the 80s – the age of big hair, Jazzercise, jelly shoes, and landlines.

And yes, the transparent phone was actually a thing.

One of the challenges of landlines was having to rely on the members of your household to let you know who called while you were out. While my mom and sister were reliable when it came to delivering messages, Dad was hit-or-miss. Case in point: I came home one day when I was around 10 or 11, and Dad informed me that Bar had called.

I stared at him a moment, then asked, “What?”

“Bar called,” he replied, his eyes glued to the television. (I can’t remember what he was watching, but it was definitely a Western, fishing show, or football.)

“Bar?” I replied.

“Yup.” As if to drive the point home, he handed me a piece of paper on which he’d written: KELLY BAR CALLED.

“I don’t know anyone named Bar,” I said, but Dad declined further comment. As far as he was concerned, his work as messenger was concluded and the conversation over.

I paused to think. Who could have called whose name sounded like Bar? I ran through my friends’ names, and none of them fit the bill. I then remembered I’d been assigned a class project with a boy named Paul. Had Paul called about the project? Did Paul sound like Bar?

“Was it a girl or a boy?” I asked.

“I don’t know,” Dad replied.

Sigh.

Now, I was in a sticky situation. I’d never called a boy before, and the very idea was horrifying, but if Paul had called and I didn’t call back, he might tell the teacher I was shirking my responsibilities. Argh! So with my heart hammering in my ears, I found his family’s name in the phonebook and dialed the number.

His mom answered, and I squeaked out, “Is Paul there?”

“Sure, just a moment, please,” she replied, friendly as could be. “Paul!”

I almost puked in the five-second interval between speaking to his mom and hearing his voice say, “Hello?”

I swallowed hard. “Hi, Paul. This is Kelly Menser. Did you call me?”

“No,” he snapped, snide as could be. His mom’s positive role modeling clearly had no effect on him.

“Okay, bye!” Utterly mortified, I slammed down the phone, then stomped upstairs as my cheeks seared and mind swirled with furious thoughts about my father’s message-taking abilities.

That evening, my friend Laura called. “I called earlier and talked to your dad,” she said. “He didn’t tell you?”

I closed my eyes and heaved a breath out my nose. Dad knew Laura very well. He had probably talked to her a hundred times. “He told me Bar called,” I grumbled.

“Bar?” she replied.

“Yes. He even wrote it down.”

“BAR?” She burst out laughing.

When she’d quieted down a bit, I added, “And I thought it might’ve been Paul, so I called him.”

“You called PAUL?!” she shrieked. “AH HA HA HA HA HA HA!!!!”

So at least Laura got a good laugh out of it. After I got off the phone, I went into the family room to inform Dad that it was Laura who’d called earlier.

“Okay,” he replied. Thinking back on it now, I imagine he had no idea what I was talking about.