Favourite Toys

A recent question, innocently enough, appeared in my news feed on Facebook. Likely, it was inspired by the upcoming holiday season and the jovial festivities it implies but it just brought back rough memories for me. The question was: Did you have a favourite toy as a child and what was it?

Many people answered with lighthearted replies of my Barbies, Legos, Teddy Ruxpin, etc. Some were more quip-y, like my imagination and nature. No one answered in the dark way that I immediately thought of when confronted with that question, so I left it at my books. In truth, my books were indeed my most favourite "toy", from the time I could read until today. Thing is, that really was for two reason back then.

My books were a never ending source of imaginary fun. There were lives I could enter and be a part of that I yearned for, that I wished with all my heart were really mine. I could escape into a book for hours. I usually read at night, under my covers in bed because then I could spend all the time I wanted just reading. I could escape from a reality that I NEVER wished for. Oddly enough, a lot of the books I read were of the horror genre but I also read plenty of fantasy. Books were something my mother wholeheartedly approved of. So much so, in fact, that she taught me to read before I had entered school. Books were safe.

Any toys that I became too attached to were destroyed. Agreeably, it wasn't a matter of course that they were destroyed due to a desire to have me not become to attached to any one thing. That I could have forgiven. No, this was malicious. It was only done as punishment to me. If my mother became angry at me and wanted to really hurt me, she would destroy a toy that she knew I felt strongly towards. Therefore, I learned that toys were not safe for me but books were. She NEVER destroyed books.

I remember specifically, when I was 17, my friends had gotten me a beautiful Sailor Moon figure and an absolutely gorgeous stuffed animal for my birthday. Both were beautiful and meant a lot to me because I was moving to another country and wouldn't be able to see my friends again. They didn't last long. My heartfelt apologies to my friends, who put so much thought and their own money into my gifts. The stuffed animal was cut to shreds in front of me and the Sailor Moon doll was ripped apart at its joints, its hair cut so that I wouldn't get the silly notion of attempting to put it back together. All this while a look of twisted joy and relish in my pain was plastered on my mother's face. Ah, fond memories...

It seems sad that these things, these memories, still affect me. Even now I have rage towards this situation. Notice I didn't say that it taught me respect for my mother. It taught me fear, not to get attached, and to delve into fantasy worlds and imagine my life was better. It taught me what true hate really is so, I guess, I can thank her for that.