A Bonus Blog

Something I was just thinking of last night as I was cleaning away on my now very clean kitchen.

When we were shooting The Poderosa Movie lo those many years ago, I brought a huge box of toys to Mr M's, where they remained many years after the shoot had taken place. In fact, I just brought them home about two weeks ago, where they've sat, in that self-same box, in my kitchen floor ever since.

Last night I was cleaning them up, separating my office toys from Taytie's long-abandoned Playmobil cowboys and indians, and I found something. I found Pokey.

I have a Pokey, no, not your regular-sized bendy Pokey, but a tiny (about 2 inches high) unbendy rubber one. He's alone now, an orphan whose Gumby was taken from him at a young age.

See, I know I've told you many times the story of my wonderful nephew coming into the world. I basically didn't want him to. I'd never been around kids, didn't like them, and wasn't ready to accept one into my life. (Ah, those carefree cynical days....)

I've always loved toys, always had them, and just knew that the day would come when this new little being forced upon me would start fondling, stealing, and breaking my toys. Sure, the expensive Barbies were behind glass, but the rest of the stuff, well, it was strewn willy-nilly all over my pad. I'd seen kids touch them before. Pick them up! I grimaced and smiled to their mothers like I didn't care. Oh, but I cared. How I cared.

But on the whole, Taytie was very good about that. He was never that destructive about his toys, save for his "My Buddy" doll Jacob gave him when he was about one. If you'll recall, "My Buddy" was a boy doll for a boy to play with. He was inordinately large, about 3 feet, and had a baseball cap, tennies, and was, if I may be so bold, not supposed to be gay-looking so dads wouldn't care that their sons were cuddling a doll. DJTayMac played with his occasionally, and that play generally consisted of beating the hell out of "My Buddy," thrashing his head on the floor, swinging him round in circles by his feet, and hurling him as far as he could throughout the house. I don't know who "My Buddy" eventually ended up with when the early toys were given away, but I'll bet he sure did love his new home.

But one day, when the nephew was but a Tayter Tot, I came to his house with something I'd just picked up at a local store. It was a teensy weensy Pokey and Gumby, the Pokey mentioned above and his equally small green friend. Tay bounced over to look at them and was immediately taken with Gumby. He coddled him, balled him up in his fist, squeezed him, put him in his mouth, simulated walking him over all the furniture, fit him in various pants pockets, and generally wooled him into an immediately "used" condition.

Occasionally I'd ask, "Where's Gumby?" and Tay would produce him, but when I'd go to take him back, the fist would ball up and his hand would swing away from me. He'd decided Gumby was his, and that was that.

I ended up spending the night with my sister, I don't remember if the stay was planned or not, it may have been due to drinking or just hanging around too long to go home. Anyway, I'd decided that before the end of the night, I was getting my Gumby back, dammit, and he was going home with me and Pokey the next morning.

And so I tried and tried, but to no avail. And finally I just kind of forgot about it, which leads me to believe that maybe drinking was in fact involved in the reason I stayed overnight.

Anyway, Taytie was long in bed, and now my sister and I decided maybe we should turn in as well. As I was getting ready for bed there in the guest room, my sister came and got me. "You've got to see this," she said.

Seems she went in for a check of The Boy before she turned in and noticed he was sleeping with one fist all balled up. She looked, came and got me, and I looked. He was sleeping away; and there in his two-year-old hand, gripping for all it was worth, was Gumby.

My heart warmed about ten degrees in that very moment. I knew I wasn't getting Gumby back, and I didn't care. I also came to a very quick realization that I was ready to pretty much give up anything I had to that little tow-head with the puppy dog eyes. And I didn't care.

And I was right. And I still don't care.

Pokey seems to be happy alone, anyway.