The March of the Toys

A Story for All Ages by Aaron McEmrys

Christmas morning at the Taylor house was like feeding time at the zoo, full of roaring, tearing and braking.

The Taylor kids were used to getting what they wanted, and Christmas was no exception. When Christmas morning finally came, the kids would dive into the pile of presents like rabid Tasmanian devils, savagely tearing off wrapping paper and looking only briefly at each present with the sharp eye of a connesuier before tossing it aside and ripping open the next one.

After the presents had all been opened the kids would “play” with their toys for a while, an ugly process that left many of them bent, broken and, on occasion, partially to mostly burnt.

By the end of Christmas week, the garbage bins at the curb of their house were already full of broken and discarded toys, soon to be dumped into a landfill somewhere, forgotten forever.

Except for this year. Wayne drove the village garbage truck. He loved being a garbage man because he said it was like being a treasure-hunter – you never knew what you might find.

And so early one morning when Wayne drove by the Taylor’s house and found two garbage cans full of nothing but broken toys, his eyes lit up.

“Daad, you were digging in the garbage again - that’s SO gross!”

“Look this one’s face is melted – why can’t we have new toys like regular kids?”

Wayne just smiled, and helped himself to another serving of mashed potatos.

Every night after that, when he got home from work, Wayne would straight to the workshop in his garage, and there he would spend hours with those hundreds of broken bits and pieces of toys spread out before him like a puzzle. He worked and worked and worked. Sometimes his kids would peep at him through a crack in the door, interested in spite of themselves.

They noticed that something very interesting was happening to those bits and pieces of toys – they were turning into strange and altogether new toys: amazing vehicles that were part fire-truck, part spaceship and part speedboat; a talking doll with the body of a lion - in fact there was a veritable circus of dolls and action figures with their parts all mixed up in strange and wonderful combinations. It was like their dad was a mad toy scientist!

One day, however, Wayne sat the kids down and the couch and told them that he was going to have to go stay in the hospital for a while. He was very sick with something called cancer, and their Aunt Julie would come stay with them until he was better. His face looked pale and his eyes had dark, purplish circles under them.

They visited their dad every day after school, and every day he seemed sicker and sicker, and sometimes he was too sick to even talk.

One night the littlest of the kids, Frieda, couldn’t sleep. She was worried about her dad. Crying a little she went downstairs and out into the garage, to Wayne’s little toy workshop. She got down the toys and started playing with them, making make-believe circus. She was still crying there in the moonlight and missing her dad with all her heart - when something amazing happened.

She ran upstairs, “get up, get up get up!!!”

The two older kids, grumbling and rubbing their eyes, followed Frieda down to the garage – and their jaws dropped open in amazement.

The toys, all the mismatched, sewn, soldered, patched, glued and rebuilt toys had come to life! They were marching, rolling and hopping around in the moonlight, some of them beeping or flashing their lights. The doll with the lion’s body kept saying “Momma, Momma” over and over until Frieda picked her up and gave her a little bottle full of pretend milk.

The kids played all night long before finally falling asleep right there in the garage. The next morning, Saturday, the kids woke up and discovered that it wasn’t a dream – the toys really were alive! And over three bowls of cereal, they came up with their best plan ever.

Later that day, just as the sun was setting, the kids opened the garage door and marched down the sidewalk, leading the most amazing parade of toys, which were lined up in neat, orderly rows: rolling, hopping or marching after them down the darkening street. A stuffed animal monkey with the head of a dog played the drums, while a whole platoon of action figures carried a toy boom box that could only play the chorus from the Michael Jackson song, Thriller, over and over again.

Soon the kids and their toys arrived at the hospital and stood outside the window of Wayne’s room. The first thing Wayne heard was the Michael Jackson song. He opened the curtains and looked out weakly, and then his eyes lit up with a familiar smile.

There they were – his three kids, and a parade of living toys. Little Frieda was holding up a big sign that said, “Get Well Soon, Daddy.” And then, in that cold hospital room, Wayne started laughing for the first time in a week. He laughed until tears rolled down his face, and a nurse, hearing the noise came in and asked, “What on earth has gotten into you?”

Wayne waved to the parade and let the curtains fall behind him. Wiping his eyes, he replied, “You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.” A week later, Wayne was out of the hospital and back at home again, working on a new batch of toys, this time, with three assistants.