I came across this and had to share with my readers. This is a case of funny but true and it doesn't even discuss the Red Ryder carbine-action 200-shot range model air rifle .
By Scott Paulsen, FOR THE PITTSBURGH TRIBUNE-REVIEW
Friday, December 10, 2010
We didn't have much, yet I cannot remember a Christmas when the tree wasn't surrounded with presents for us five kids. Mom and Dad found a way, each year, to play Santa.
That still doesn't explain why they tried so hard to kill us.
I am reminded of their murderous efforts each year at this time as safety organizations publish their annual lists of toys deemed "too dangerous for children," an inventory Mom and Dad would have considered "research."
The idea of parents willfully buying dangerous toys for their children may seem irresponsible to the people of today, those who place helmets on every bare head. I, however, am an ancient throwback from the time before airbags, a survivor of the days when people drank unfiltered water straight from neighbors' garden hoses.
We played outside, all day, without supervision, helmets, watch lists, knee pads, life coaches or schedules, among hard rocks, sharp tree branches and germ-filled dirt -- and survived such dangerous and foolish times.
After 11 months of dealing with five muddy kids, my parents were only too happy to shake Santa's hand in December. The three had a deal. They'd feed him milk and cookies. In return, he would leave all sorts of deathtraps under the Paulsen tree.
Santa brought me a Wood Burning Kit when I was 6 (6!). It consisted of a sharply pointed metal spear that, once plugged into a wall socket, rose to a temperature hot enough to burn wood (thus the name).
Each year, one of the five of us would get roller skates (stitches), a sled (fracture), or skateboards (concussion). The best gift Santa brings -- a BB gun -- was perpetual as well. Three boys in a family will ensure that happens.
Now, in our modern, scheduled play date, constant visual contact, haz-mat suit, OSHA-approved padded foam play areas with a lifeguard-on-duty world, we know the Daisy air rifle was responsible for eliminating the eyes of 93 percent of American men between the ages of 45 and 60. No wonder eyepatches became so fashionable in the '80s.
It wasn't only the boys. My parents wished to maim and disfigure my sisters as well. They live to this day with the scarred reminders from leaning too close to the Easy-Bake Oven. Pink bicycles flew as far as black ones when jumping from the back porch.
I applaud the efforts of groups like W.A.T.C.H. (World Against Toys Causing Harm) for publishing lists of dangerous toys. They mean well. Shortly after applauding, however, I laugh, knowing that kids have not changed one iota from when I was a short person. No matter how safe a toy is deemed, a 10-year-old will find a way to make it dangerous.
Mom and Dad made it easy. They gave us lawn darts, pogo sticks, mini-bikes, bow-and-arrow sets and that granddaddy of irresponsible parenting, the Gilbert Chemistry Set.
Wonder what happens when I mix these two together?
Oops.
That's going to leave a scar.
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