John Travolta

To say that many of my tastes were influenced by the tastes of my parents is to severely understate the obvious.

I was a child raised by somewhat trendy parents. You should see photos of my father's dashiki, my Mom's blonde Afro, and the beaded braids I was forced to endure. Bell bottomed pants, Sergio Valente's, newsprint outfits, jelly shoes, if it was a fad in NY, I endured it.

These trends were not limited to fashion. It bled right into musical tastes, and Television programming. Seeing as though we had one television until I turned 6 only helped further my Patty Hearst-like brainwashing.

If my mother wanted to watch it, I *had* to watch it as well. Since my father came home from his second job long after I went to sleep, his influence was focused to my love of the New York Yankees, and Hulk Hogan on Sundays.

One of the many shows my mother would watch was Welcome Back Kotter, starring the young John Travolta. My mom loved John Travolta. It's no surprise that on a shopping trip to purchase a Barbie-like doll (most probably a knock off blow mold doll), my mother became distracted by the new John Travolta celebrity doll display.

I remember seeing the most awesome Adventure Team Muscle body GI Joes, and really wanting them. The packaging was bright, and since they were sold in shorts, you could see their superheroic physique. Bulletman appealed to me. John Travolta appealed to my mom.

My mom convinced me I would much rather prefer the John Travolta doll. He was on TV, movies, etc. So I walked out the door with John Travolta. But my mom DID surrender on one point. I wanted an army guy, so she agreed I could get John an army outfit, complete with jungle camo, boots and rifle.

When I got home I was actually excited to play with my new stuff. I opened the box and pulled John free, ripped open the army gear, and got ready for adventure!

The adventure was short-lived. Getting John out of his light blue shirt and denim combo turned out to be quite the task for a 4 year old. His pants and shirt were actually a onesy, and the belt was flimsy. My mom helped after noticing me struggle and offered to put his army suit on for me.

That was a different struggle. Travolta was larger that your average Joe. My mom did manage to get the shirt and pants on, but it looked like he was wearing camo Capri pants that left nothing to the imagination, and his shirt would not close. His rifle looked like a BB gun, and his boots would not fit. I was pretty disappointed in the whole deal.

Finally I asked my mom to put his regular clothes on. I guess his only adventures would occur on the dance floor... solo, since I never did get a Barbie or Barbie like doll on that shopping trip.

I did finally get a Barbie doll, two years later. She was actually a Skipper doll, which was way too short for John. But that's a story for another day.

Hulk Skates

I must have been somewhere between the ages of 3 and 4 the first time went to the Aqueduct Racetrack. It wasn't too far from the apartment building we were living in at that time, and the Aqueduct was host to a large flea market on the weekends. (Oddly enough, I've just recently found out that the flea market would be closing for good soon.)

The Aqueduct was an amazing world of colorful sights and smells for a child. Toys of every kind seemed to litter the area. Salesfolks would stand in front if their booths demonstrating the latest Chinese tin wind up cars, symbol playing monkeys, and crawling babies. Others would play with paddle ball toys, or the amazing click clacks (AKA clackers, ker-bangers, popper knockers, and a variety of other names).

I wanted an orange pair of click clacks so bad, but my mom said I was too young. It's a shame, too. The sales guy had my dad on the verge of buying me one, so he could play with it too.

But I digress.

We were there to buy clothes, material for my mother to sew, a pair of Chinese cloth shoes my dad loved, and some rusty screws. I'm not too sure about the rusty screws. I just remember my mom saying, "That's right, we came here to buy rusty screws," every time my dad found someone selling dirty used tools. In retrospect, I assume she meant it sarcastically.

I know that I spent quite some time watching my dad paw greasy used tools, as that seemed less boring than watching my mom at the linen and material booth. The upside is that my dad was equally captivated by the cheap import toy booths, so we spent an equal amount of time watching demonstrations of remote controlled toys as we did staring at crap tool booths.

With my mother distracted buying things that were needed, my father and I ran around eating elephant ears, hotdogs, and playing with toys.

When my mom caught up to us I was wearing a headband with two springy antennae topped with glittery red balls. My dad proudly exclaimed that they looked like El Chapulin Colorado's antennae. My mom just laughed.

On the way out we passed a table selling roller-skates. My dad insisted I needed some. My mother was unconvinced, as they were costly and I would ultimately outgrow them in a few months.

In response, the seller shows my mom his line of expandable plastic figural skates. They were cheap plastic skates with plastic wheels that a kid would slip on over their shoes, and the size was adjustable. The tips of the skates featured the one thing no child could ignore: a superhero's face!

He had Wonder Woman, which I was excited about, but my mom, being a mom, required me to try them on. For some reason, perhaps the design of the figural aspect of the head, they did not fit properly and they hurt. So Wonder Woman was a no go.

I saw Batman and I knew I was to have him, even if he didn't fit, or hurt my foot through my sneakers, I was going to smile and lie through my teeth. But first I had to try on the Hulk skates. They fit like a glove, and before I could speak up, my mom had already brokered the deal. Sure, I could have interrupted... if I want to have a taste of the back of her hand. Children were never to interrupt adults in conversation, nor were they to speak unless spoken to.

So I went home with a pair of Hulk skates.

That afternoon, I went outside to try them out. My mom strapped them to my feet and off I went... About an inch. Those plastic wheels really had no tread, and on the rough sidewalk, it was worse.

Our apartment was carpeted, so no use there. The kitchen had linoleum, but was the size of a closet.

I had a pair of useless Hulk skates, but what I found out was I had a great pair a of Hulk race cars that my knockoff Playmobil guys could ride around in.

I never did wear those stupid antennae again. And I still want a pair of orange click clacks.

Found Spidey

As I have mentioned before, I was generally my mother's sidekick until I began school. My mom was never one to shirk responsibilities, and felt that leaving me to be watched by another adult in her stead was indeed avoiding the role that she took on when she became a mother.

That meant if my mom had errands to run, it was adventure time for me. Each new place to a child under the age of 5 can be a world of exciting and often scary situations. Since I knew better than to run amok in public, most of my adventures were silent imaginary scenarios. I had experience playing by myself at that point, so all was well.

On one such adventure I found myself on line at a very busy bank. My mother noticing how long the wait was said I could go sit quietly in the nice comfy leather seats reserved for those waiting to be seen by a loan officer. She did give me the caveat, if she looked in the direction and did not see me, all bets were off. I would have to go and stand in line with her and have to answer for disobeying. Believe me, that was not something I ever wanted to answer!

So I ventured forth to my new comfy local for the time being. It was an old fashioned leather armchair, the kind with the brass buttons that look like rivets. I always loved those chairs, as they instantly became spaceships, and the rivets became control and flight buttons.

After a few minutes of my long term space flight where I would be confined in my cockpit, I noticed something on the floor, behind the row of chairs across the ornate oriental rug that separated my ship from the others. It was red and blue, and could barely be seen as a chunky wooden leg from the armchair was blocking most of it from my view. What was it?!

This began a mind crushing period of time. I would look over across the back to the teller line and check to make sure my mom was not watching. I would then fidget and try to obtain a better view of this mysterious red and blue object until I would notice my Mom's gaze starting to turn in my direction. Rinse and repeat.

At one point during this struggle with my armchair, I almost fell off. But it was at that very point that I received visual confirmation of what my quarry was... It was Spider-man. It was a beautiful 8 inch Mego Spider-man that some other child must have dropped. I looked around, but other than an older gentleman sitting a few chairs away from me, who must have thought I was learning disabled or at the very least, plain stupid, there was no one else around in that waiting area.

I looked towards the teller line and all I saw were grumpy adults who were not happy to be standing in that never-ending line for ONE teller. From what I could tell, there were no other children in the bank. Spidey was going to be mine! That is, if I could figure out a way to get out of my chair, crawl under a different chair, grab him, and get back into my chair before my mom could notice. Then I would have to explain where he came from! What would I say? I found him?

It was the truth, but would my mom let me keep him? What if she made me give him to the bank owner? Then he would have a Spidey to play with.

As I sat there going through the scenarios, my mom tapped me on my shoulders. I hadn't noticed she had moved up in line, much less that she had been at the teller window when I last cased out the bank for other kids. With a sigh, I pointed to where the Spider-man was and whispered to my mom that it looked like someone dropped a toy.

She walked over, reached behind the chair and smiled at the old man and said straight faced, "My daughter dropped her doll." She handed the Spidey to me and said we'd talk outside.

When we stepped out to the cold crisp New York air, she turned to me and said, "Oh well, finders keepers!"

Sometimes I wonder about the poor kid who lost that Spider-man, and then I remember my mom. Finders keepers, indeed.  

Decker

This is what I generally refer to as the  Saga of Decker.

I obtained my Mego Decker action figure one chilly morning during one of my many childhood visits to my godfather, all the way over on the east side of the Van Wyck. Yes, a trip consisting of a total 15 minutes from my home. Across the street from my godfather's place was a small general store. It was a cross between a hardware store and pharmacy from what I can remember. On occasion my mother and I would go there to pick up little things while my father visited with my godfather.

On one such occasion, I noticed a spinner rack full of carded toys. Not much in the way of selection, but I did spot a Star Wars figure. There amongst the dredge was an Empire Strikes Back Han Solo! Oh boy, this was my chance to actually OWN a Star Wars figure. Finally I could shut up the jerk with the Bespin Luke.

I grabbed Han Solo and as I was about to show my mom, I noticed a figure from Star Trek the Motion Picture. Being that I was about 4 or so, and as of yet unable to read, I thought it was Kirk. Well, I knew my mom was a fan of the show. I had caught her watching it on occasion. I figured, I bet she'd get a kick out of it, so I grabbed it to just LITERALLY SHOW HER.

Of course it played as as follows: I carry two figures up to my mom who is talking to the guy behind the counter. I show her the Star Trek figure first. She takes it from me. I go to hand her Han Solo, and she puts it counter and says we'd better get back. Once across the street, I'm handed my new toy: Star Trek's own Decker.

I guess in the confusion of her not paying attention to me as I tried to explain which I wanted and which I just wished to show, she misunderstood and just grabbed the first thing I handed her and paid for it.

So there I was with my brand new "I don't know who the heck this is" Star Trek guy. I figured he was Kirk. So I called him Kirk. He became my new best friend, being that he was the only 3 3/4inch figure I owned at the time. (I had a previous relationship with a Comic Action Hero Penguin, but that ended badly... for the Penguin.) Still, Decker and me, we had lots of fun. Sometimes he'd wear a cape and fly like a superhero. Sometimes he'd put on a parachute and become a daredevil the likes of which had not been seen since Evel Knievel.

One day, a year or so later, I was playing with the kids next door when one particular kid flung Decker high into the air... and he landed on the roof. Bye Bye Decker.

A couple of more years go by, and the neighbors have their roof redone... and off the roof flies Decker. A little worse for wear, but still good ole Decker. Of course he's caught by the kid next door, who has experienced a bout of amnesia it seems since he claims Decker was his all along and that *I* threw him on the roof. His mother takes his side. Again, Decker seemed lost to me.

But that did not last long. All it took was patience, and a little bit of the sneak, and Decker was back in my possession. Yes, I bided my time and when I saw the opportunity, I stole him from the kid next door. Granted since he was mine to begin with, I don't actually consider it "stealing" so much as I consider it liberating a POW.

Decker was an indoor toy from that point on. He wasn't quite the same, the ravages of being behind enemy lines had left their scar. The kid next door was a toy biter. Decker came back from the front without any fingers on his hands, and missing a good 40% of his paint. But he was mine.

I still have Decker. It's funny, for a figure I never wanted, he turned out to be a pretty good toy.

Bespin Luke

I was 4 yrs old when The Empire Strikes Back first hit the silver screen. At that time, my family lived in a small first floor apartment in a rather poor area of Queens, New York. As such, I tended to play outdoors only when my mother was available to supervise, otherwise I was left to my own devices indoors.

I was an "only child" at that time. You could say, I was a "lonely child". Bad pun? Yes, but accurate.

There were other children on the block where I lived, but not in the same building. I usually watched these children play ball in the street, or ride bikes, all from my bedroom window. I wanted very much to join, but they were all older children. So I just sat there and watched.

It was around the time Kenner started airing commercials for the Empire Strikes Back toys when it happened. A boy moved into an apartment upstairs. He wasn't much older than me, and like me he wasn't allowed to play outside unsupervised. I'd see him on the stairs or playing in the hallway. At some point my mother and his must have spoken and they would allow us to play together in the hallway... as long as we didn't go outside.

Sounds good doesn't it? It wasn't. That kid was a jerk.

One day he came over with a brand new Luke Skywalker in Bespin Fatigues action figure! He showed me his lightsaber and gun, but I could only see it. I wasn't allowed to touch it. I was a girl, and well, aside from having cooties, girls lose accessories it seems.

To convince him otherwise, he said, I'd have to bring out MY Star Wars action figures so we could play. Problem was, I didn't have any Star Wars figures. Heck, I wasn't sure WHAT Star Wars was, other than what I had seen in the toy commercials. (I was convinced Han Solo was captured by an upside drinking glass for years!) And don't let it be forgotten that Star Wars were "boy toys", and I was NOT a boy. So I went inside my home and came back with something that might pass for an action figure, a Playmobil knockoff. To say I was laughed at would be a disservice to the howling histerics I was subjected to.

So went back inside, sat at my window, and watched the kids outside play ball and ride their bikes once more.