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Educational Value

On a whim, and mostly because it was only £3.99* in my local Smiths I bought the TV Cream Toys book today. It’s essentially a catalogue of toys mostly from the mid sixties to the early eighties. The front bit has a collection of quotes from Richard Herring, Charlie Brooker, Al Murray, Harry Hill and some bloke called Ally Ross(I only know he’s a he because I googled him). Mostly complaining about how they didn’t get (m)any of the toys featured in the book, and I find myself in a similar position.

Out of 139 toys I was allowed 13 of those; and at least 3 (My Little Pony,Barbie and Sindy) were bought by other relatives to whom my mother was unable to object.
Of those that did make it into the house most were board(ish) games (Monopoly, Trivial Pursuit, Cluedo, Yahtzee, Connect Four). There were also the dolls and ponies, Spirograph, Fuzzy Felt, Rubik’s Cube, Commodore 64 and Petite Typewriter.

As I was reading through I realised I could recall which of my friends had those that were forboden in my house.  So for instance I can tell you that Rebecca had the fabulous Big Yellow Teapot, Rainbow Brite and the actual Strawberry Shortcake* rather than the cheap weirdo version I got from a well meaning grandmother. Kelly and Daniel had an EtchaSketch*, and just about every board/activity game going. Angelina, who had the great advantage over my divorced parents, by having divorced parents who were still battling for her affections, had pretty much anything and everything, including so much PlayDoh that she could’ve constructed new parents from it. And Hannah, who lived in a commune (of sorts), had a MrFrosty.

I was, as you can probably tell from my recall, envious of my peers and their vast collections of exciting and shiny toys. However, unlike the subtitle of the book “presents you pestered your parents for” I didn’t. Not because I was a well behaved and adorable child*, but because I knew there was no point after one refusal. My mother is the single most resistant human being on the planet. She could teach spies how to withstand interrogation, she’s that good.
Quite a few toys such as Operation, Perfection and Kerplunk I was not allowed because the little bits would get lost.  Some such as the Girls World disembodied head, and the play kitchen I was not allowed because she was going through a quite intense “men are all bastards” stage during the 1980s. I was not allowed MrFrosty because my mother was convinced it would make me unwell. The most cited reason for not being allowed stuff, though,was that it had no educational value. That I wasn’t going to learn anything from it.

So I was allowed to play Monopoly, Trivial Pursuit and Cluedo because they taught me something. (How to be a capitalist detective with great trivia skills I suppose.) I was allowed Fuzzy Felt, of which I had many sets, and Spirograph were creative. The Rubik’s Cube I had taken off me when I was 3 because I cheated and took all the stickers off to complete it, but that was for developing logic*.
The typewriter and the Commodore (the latter I saved up for myself and had to justify its purchase) would teach me those all important typing skills that I would need to follow my mother’s career ambition for me (writer, not typist).
For years prospective toys had to pass some kind of cost-benefit test that existed inside my mother’s head.
I was allowed toy cars, and were they not so expensive, (and filled with those pesky little bits just crying out to be lost) I’d have been allowed a train set*. Though what exactly they were teaching me I’m not sure.
Anything that was overly jolly, covered with photos of grinning children, or repeatedly described as fun was usually dismissed straight away. Anything that contained the words “for girls” was given VERY careful scrutiny (both my mother and I have problems with the way catalogues such as Argos and ELC are divided into boys and girls). Anything that was an alarming colour or rooted in a bizarre mythology didn’t make it into the house; so that ruled out the teapot, its comrade the treehouse, glowworms, cabbage patch dolls and noah’s ark.

This was until she and I both realised the power of bribery. It’s so much more encouraging to know that at the end of an hour and half keyboard practise that you will be rewarded with a small anthropomorphised rabbit. Thing is though I think I learned more from the toys that didn’t sit well in my mother’s educational childhood model.

My Barbie dolls gave me a valuable insight into the arts of beautifying, which my mother refused to teach me about: and whatever your perspective on such things I’m telling you that living in the west and getting to 19 without knowing how to put lipstick/eyeshadow on is a pita.
The My Little Ponies taught me the not tremendously useful skill of plaiting (but impressive to a 7 year old none the less), and about the joys of obsessive collecting*.
Those Sylvanian Families became the patients and staff of a little hospital, and no cutesy sticking plaster crap either. I was, after all, the child who rewatched the Casualty episode Cascade*  over and over to get my rabbits having the most realistic scars, they had blood transfusion drips and there was plenty of splatter.

And the educational toys? Well I type with 2-4 fingers and despite my best efforts cannot learn touch typing. I’m no good at the accumulation of money, I have the observation skills of a drunken goldfish, I do have a section of my brain dedicated entirely to useless trivia but my drawing and felt skills leave a lot to be desired. And I still can’t do the Rubik’s Cube without cheating.

Anyone else feel that they learnt more from the bad toys than the good?

And proof, as if it were needed that I am still six at heart: I soooo want this.

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*Only because the pages were stuck together. No not like that. More as in printers didn’t cut off the pages right, which isn’t uncommon with gift books-mostly I assume because you generally only buy those kind of books for people you don’t know that well.
*And a whole host of other very cool things such as a Glowworm, a whole dressing up box to herself and a see through ‘phone. I should also point out that unlike some other people I’ve come across that have plenty she was, and still is, one of the nicest most generous people I’ve ever met, and the only time I ever fell out with her was at her insistance that the name Nancy read nursey when we were about 6.
* Everytime I put dashes in it goes weird so just assume I know the name has hyphens.
*Though obviously I was. Fingers crossed behind my back you say? Not at all. Honest.
* Number of Rubik’s Cubes I own=2, Quantity of Logic I have=0
*I had to content myself with looking at the mahoosive train set of the man next door. And no that’s not a filthy metaphor, it was 00 gauge.
* As did my chocolate wrapper collection, though I think my penfriends probably had me pegged as a weirdo (not incorrectly)
* And yes I’m sad enough that I didn’t need to look the name up, and can pretty much recall every scene.

Tags: bad doys, childhood, educational toys, long, toys