Go on, let yourself be boxed in
Almost 21 years ago, I bought a Lionel train set for my 8-year-old son. Set it up under the Christmas tree. Sent it circling our ceramic village. Together, we watched.
“Is that all it does?” my son asked.
And I realized how hopelessly pathetic my childhood had been.
But then I discovered the National Toy Hall of Fame (NTHoF), part of the Strong National Museum of Play in Rochester, N.Y. And I realized that maybe my childhood – and those of millions of other kids – might not have been so pathetic after all.
What caught my eye was an announcement by the Strong last Thursday listing the 12 finalists for the NTHoF Class of 2018. This year’s nominees include the Magic 8 Ball; the sled; Tickle Me Elmo; and Tudor Electric Football. The list will be whittled down to three inductees by November.
Among this year’s nominees, Tudor Electric Football has to be the most shocking, at least to me. First, there’s the name, which conjures images of King Henry VIII chasing a pigskin-toting Anne Boleyn around Whitehall Palace. Second, I thought the game had been punted out of bounds in 1978 when Atari introduced a football video game with pixelated figures conceivably drawn by a 3-year-old. How wrong I was: Tudor’s still available and can be purchased, with your favorite team’s accoutrements, for $99.95.
Of course, I had Tudor football; most boys did after the game was introduced in 1948. If you’ve never seen Tudor football in action, I can’t begin to describe how it works, except to say that it approximates the play of the Cleveland Browns over the past two seasons. The game setup consists of a metal field that vibrates. Line up your molded plastic players, who stand on plastic tabs, and watch ’em go! When a defensive player touches the offensive player carrying the cotton “ball,” stop the vibration and reset the players.
Sometimes players run well. Sometimes they run the wrong way. And sometimes – if your cocker spaniel chews off a player’s leg, as mine did – they run in circles. If that happens, it approximates the play of the Pittsburgh Steelers in their 2018 season opener against the aforementioned Browns.
Pretty cool place, the NTHoF. The list of inductees since 1998 (view it at www.museumofplay.org) is impressive. For example, Barbie, Tinkertoys, Crayola Crayons and Play-Doh all made the inaugural class of 1998. But I was drawn to one particular member of that class: the cardboard box. This selection may seem hilarious, but the cardboard box’s enshrinement is really a no-brainer.
Who hasn’t played with a cardboard box? I made a Mercury capsule out of one in 1961 and went into orbit. Cardboard boxes make great forts or castles. Collapsed, they make fine sleds. And more.
Not too long after he dissed my train setup, my son discovered the wonders of the cardboard box. When something I ordered arrived in a boy-sized box filled with packing peanuts, he asked if he might have it. I assented, and he dragged the box upstairs to his bedroom. An hour later, I opened his door to find him standing on his bed. All the peanuts were strewn about the floor, and the bed, and his desk – everywhere but in the box, which lay, somewhat squashed, at the foot of his bed.
“What happened?” I asked, more puzzled than mad.
“I don’t know!” he replied, with a look on his face that told me he actually didn’t.
Obviously, he’d had an out-of-box experience. I wish I could have one so easily now.
Cardboard box, I salute you!
You’re the stuff dreams are made of.