Essays

He was sitting at a small table by himself inside Starbucks. He was alone holding his hot pink hand-held game. The four others he came with were already tables away, laughing amongst themselves. He glanced up from the screen long enough to squeal to himself, "I am sitting alone." But the others didn't notice his words. 

At 3 feet tall, he barely fit into the only chair at his table. His khaki-covered legs were crossed at the ankles, revealing miniature blue Crocs strapped on his feet. He was in his obvious element -- Mario Brothers. His brows were furrowed and his chocolate eyes were concentrated on the characters as his fingers moved maticulously over the buttons. His lips were pursed in a straight line -- a line that only moved when he smiled.

Occasionally, a laugh wiggled free; sweet victory. "I broke it!" he shouted, but quickly continued back to business, for another level was yet to be won. The young boy had escaped into his very own electronic vacation. This modern escape, offered to us in the form of iPods, Wiis, and Tivos, have replaced our rope hammocks and Mai Tais. As I watched the dark haired boy continue in his escape, I wondered what there was to get away from? My childhood was, from the way I remember, care-free.

There was no reason to get away from any of it. However, I realized that although I didn't grow up with a nintendo or a laptop; my vacations were handed to me in different forms. I filled my long days with Polly Pockets, Lite-Brite, and Barbie. My cat Lucky took the form of my best-friend as well as a real live baby doll who'd sometimes growl when I shoved her in a plastic stroller. 

The boy had reached his utopia. He could no longer hear the chatters from his friends, who were sitting together, each busy with their own hand-held game. At no older than 5, the boy had slipped into a coma that could only be found with the perfect match. Anymore, I can only master such a coma if my iPod continues to retain my attention. I doubt my old Lite-Brite or Easy Bake would do the job like it used to. 

I've recently joked with my friends about wanting to relive my childhood; something I know happens often when we just want to remain Toys-R-Us kids. My cat Lucky isn't around anymore and my Barbies are packed away, sleeping in my Indiana attic. However, I do have an electronic Etch-a-Sketch on my laptop and season one of ALF on DVD. The trance I get from those old joys only lasts so long. After all, Punky Brewster really isn't that funny once you realize what's actually going on and Raffi tapes don't sound as musically complex as they once did. 

Back in Starbucks, the group of kids got rowdy -- they yelled at various victories they'd earned with their fast fingers. The boy ignored the sounds. His dad repeatedly told him that it was time to leave, but he was still lost in paradise, or maybe Mario Kart. His dad tugged at his arm to gain his attention. "Come on son, let's go back to the car," he said. The boy said nothing to his dad and slid out of the wooden seat, letting his shoes hit the floor as if he was weightless. He shuffled out the door, his friends trailed behind him. 

I am still hoping there is something, an escape, that can offer me the happiness I once received as a child. Sometimes, I think it's on it's way in the form of a new gadget, a great meal, or perhaps a strong cocktail followed by a deep sleep. I've noticed others find their escapes through small things; a hot bath, ice cream, or a baseball game. The hunt for my escape is a fun one, but I've still got my eye on the prize. I'm still searching for my old Slinky; maybe the metal spring will give me the short escape I'm destined for.