We spent the last Saturday of March Break in The Big City because The Baby had some medical tests scheduled and we thought nothing would be more fun than bringing our easily bored nearly-12-year-old and nine year old along with us. What a great idea! Eventually, though, the endless morning of tests (for The Baby) and endless whining (for the other two) was over and we took them to the toy store, because The Baby gets a treat whenever she has to put up with all of the medical nonsense she has to put up with and it only seemed fair that we buy something for the other two while we were at it.
In The Big City, there is a new giant toy store - a revelation to my children, who are normally content with the toy selection at the hardware store (two aisles near the cleaning products) and who sometimes get to go to small toy stores filled with the kind of toys that affluent thoughtful parents want their children to like. But this toy store had multiple aisles devoted to Barbie and an area the size of our house full of video games and my younger two kids were ENCHANTED. Pick one inexpensive thing! we told them and The Baby knew right away what she wanted - a stuffed peacock, thank you very much - and The Boy took his time and The Girl wandered around with this strange forlorn look on her face.
What's the matter? I asked her.
I don't want anything, she said. How can I not find anything I want in this whole huge store?
Sometimes endings in childhood are gradual - things slip away when we're not paying attention and we don't even notice for ages that they're gone - and sometimes they come abruptly. A few months ago - a few weeks ago, even - there still would have been many things that would have delighted her but all at once she was too old for it and that was that, it was over.
I remember being nearly her age. I'd had this doll family - I called them the Middle Sized Doll Family, because they were all largeish dolls but not THAT big - and for years I'd unselfconsciously played torrid soap operas with them until one day I picked one of them up and it was just a doll, just a plastic thing and whatever magic toys had was all at once gone, like it had washed away during the night and left only me.
We went to a bookstore, the Girl and me, and wandered around for a while and finally she picked out something she wanted - a bookstore chocolate bar - and was quiet on the drive home, mulling over the loss of something she could not put into words. This is the way most things end, I wanted to tell her, but did not.
