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.

Mego Batgirl

[Preface: In previous posts I have alluded to an incident involving a set of Magnetic Batman and Robin figures. At times I come across as bitter, and in truth, I am to a certain extent. This incident is a painful childhood memory, and to this day I still carry some of the hurt. I don't speak of it often, and I have been putting this one story off for a while to the point that I have updated less often than I would like to. Today, I have decided it's now time to let go.]

It was the Christmas season of 1980. Ronald Reagan had just been elected president of the United States, and my father was overjoyed. In January he would take office, and President Carter and the lean times of the 1970's would finally be over. I would turn 5 that first week of January, and we would celebrate it Uruguay, with our extended family, grandparents, aunts, uncles and cousins that we were only able to see every 2 to 3 years.

As the 1980's had promised, this new decade was already looking good for my family. My parents had saved up and were now home owners of a 2 family walk-up in Ozone Park, Queens. This Christmas was to be celebrated like no other. As such, the first week of December included a shopping trip to Alexanders to purchase a full sized tree, decorations, more lights than should be allowed, and a few odds and ends for family.

Normally shopping trips involved my mother and I on a bus or the subway, as we were a 1 car family, with that 1 car being my father's mode of transportation for work. This Christmas, though was special. My father wanted to come along, as he felt that it was his responsibility to make the outside of the house glow like the sun. If it involved ladders, nails and hammers... it was man's work. We piled into our 1972 mustard yellow Ford Maverick (with the brown vinyl roof) and went off for a Saturday of shopping.

I don't recall much from that shopping trip, other than it was cold outside, hot inside, and boring. Relief came over me as we approached the checkout lanes. That meant it was time to go home.

That's when I saw it.

The one image that would burn into my mind for decades to come. I still dream of it.

Over each checkout lane hung white chains from the ceiling. Usually they attached teddy bears, dolls, balloons, anything that would bring a young child to a high pitched scream, and thereby force the parent to buy it to shut them up.

But I did not see teddy bears or dolls. I saw aisle after aisle, checkout lane after checkout lane, from ceiling to right above the counter... Mego magnetic Batmans and Robins. They had been taken out of the boxes and were hanging from their hands and feet. Some were posed as though they were climbing. Others held hands and made a Batman/Robin chain from over one counter to the next. It was beautiful.

And I wanted them so badly I could taste it. And it would indeed taste good. Like candy flavored candy topped with candy and sprinkled with even more candy.

I went to my father, the weak link in the "asking for stuff" chain of command. I asked him, "If I'm really good, do you think Santa will bring me a Batman and Robin like those?" as I pointed above our heads. It was too close to Christmas to even consider asking for anything outright. I was never a stupid child. I was just a little naive.

My father's response was a parental cliche', "You'll have to remember to ask Santa."

Fine. Now I just needed to find Santa, or one of his many emissaries.
[note: my parents once explained to me that Santa is a rather busy man, and as such he cannot be everywhere. To that end he employs emissaries around the world to stand at street corners and at shopping centers to "take orders" from the children of the world, and that these emissaries reported to the big man himself daily. I was a rather inquisitive child, and my parents were rather creative in answering my logistical questions with answers that had a little real world logic for backing.]

I wrote a letter to Santa with the help of my mother. I placed the letter in a mailbox and went on to dream of Christmas morning.

Christmas came and went. No Batman or Robin.

Evidently, the man can fly around the world in the span of one night delivering toys to every boy and girl, but he cannot read Spanish.

Immediately after Christmas, my mother needed to make another trip to Alexander's to buy some odds and ends for our month long trip to South America, and exchange some clothes which were too small for me already. Since my birthday was coming up soon, my mom said I could pick out something as a gift. I knew exactly what I wanted and made a beeline to it.

When I arrived... all those wonderful chains above the checkout lanes were bare. I asked my mother if she remembered the toys that were there a month previously, and she did not.

As I went to the toy section, I remember walking by a dump full of boxes. I know now that it was full of Mego 8 inch Batgirls, Catwomans, and Supergirls. What I knew then was, it was NOT the Batmans or Robins I wanted, so I didn't really care.

Disappointed, I grabbed an 8 Inch Mego Batgirl.

I have never hated a toy so much in my whole life. It really wasn't her fault though. She was just a victim of circumstance.  Just was a substitute for what I really wanted, and never received. I just couldn't look at her and NOT see that image of Magnetic Batmans and Robins.

And I could never look at Santa the same either.