A few weeks ago, after I had bribed our friends with the promise of homemade beef stroganoff, we had a houseful of guests. They soon grew bored watching me impersonate Julia Child, and took to wandering around our nearly 100-year-old home.
We live in a circle house, with one room melding into another seamlessly. From the Smurf-themed kitchen there is a small hallway, and then my stepson’s room, a cacophony of colors and dragons and giant toys. Once our friends opened the door to his room, all hell broke loose.
I was still in the kitchen, cooking sirloin with some onions and spices. Suddenly, dozens of tiny foam darts hailed down from some unseen assailant and I threw my hands over the skillet, trying to keep the toys out of the stroganoff.
Our guests had discovered our store of Nerf guns. I put dinner on the back burner and grabbed a semi-automatic play pistol. In the midst of the mayhem, my mother showed up with a few of her friends — and then the real battle began. Lines were drawn, territory determined and teams were formed. Then we waged war. Darts forced themselves into every nook and cranny, creeping in between couch cushions and attaching themselves to overhead fans and draperies. They crawled under rugs and immersed themselves into the video game collection.
I’ll admit it: My generation has a problem with growing up. I pin the blame on Toys R Us. As children, we were marketing guinea pigs. Catchy songs and a cartoon giraffe were all we needed to get us to buy everything from cereal to bikes to roller skates to backpacks.
Fast forward a few decades, and now the same children who once clamored for Toucan Sam are now out purchasing game apps and Nintendo DS Lites (with a 93 percent larger screen). Our toys may have become more sophisticated, but they are still toys. And boy, do we have lots of them.
My generation requires entertainment, but we are easily bored. Our phones must do more than simply connect us with friends and family. They are our calendars, computers, video games and sometimes our dearest possessions. We must be able to check Facebook, send a text, call grandma and watch a movie all at the same time.
A young mother at the park the other day moved slowly across the newly cut grass, her hands full of baby and diaper bag and the all-important cellphone. Her phone began to slip out of her grasp. I watched as she chose to slide her child gently to the ground in order to manage the phone. Pretty sad day when an electronic device holds more sway than a child.
I have an old table with two small drop-down leaves. On this dinner table, plates and platters of food will never be found. On it sits a Japanese slot machine and a duck-shooting gallery. This kitchen exemplifies my generation perfectly. I have resigned myself to the fact that if I must cook dinner, at least it will be fun. That’s us: the fun generation. We demand constantly fluctuating fun and we will have it.
Now.
I don’t wanna grow up . . .
Krista Cox (@ ) of Silt works in the lumber industry.
