Tuesday, September 12, 2006

Lies My Parents Told Me, Volume 1

It takes me a while to work things out sometimes. It once took me twenty years to get a joke from The Two Ronnies - but, like most things I got there in the end. Adulthood brings wisdom, and suddenly things from your childhood tend to make lots more sense - or be exposed as the shabby deceptions that they are.

One of my favourite toys when I was about four years old was Tom, one half of the popular beat combo "Tom & Jerry", which, like the Bay City Rollers, was the style at the time.

Tom was made of some kind of bendy, rubber-type material, and was quite tall in stature - something like 12 inches tall I'm sure. And in the hands of a four year old, anything that bends is most definitely bent - consistently, and repeatedly. Such is the life of a hard-wearing children's toy.

Problem is, after a while, even the most resilient toy will start to show the strain. And after many years in my toy box, Tom was starting to come to pieces. This did not matter to me at all, but it was clearly a problem for my parents who were probably concerned at the possible hazards that a gradually disintegrating bendy toy could pose to someone so young. I was, after all, but four years old. And it was that blissful naivety that would be targeted in a most sinister operation.

Mumsie explained to me that my ragged old Tom was not well. I had not noticed this previously - there had been no signs of lethargy, no tell-tale coughs, nothing to indicate that my beloved Tom was under the weather. But it was true, and in order to make Tom feel better, he would need to go to the toy hospital. There was nothing to worry about, Tom would be well looked after, and would return once he had been made all better.

Poor Tom. Sad to see him go, I bade him farewell as Mumsie swept him away. I was sure that I would see him soon.

Time passed - quite some time, in fact, during which time I am sure that my constant enquiries as to Tom's status were nothing less than adorable. But eventually, one day, Tom came back.

Mumsie revealed Tom, all better from his trip to the toy hospital, and.. smaller. Much smaller. He still looked like Tom. Still that same smiley face. Still very bendy. Not quite soperished as before, so clearly the hospital had done a good job. But Tom was half the size he used to be!

Even a four year old would detect such a thing, and indeed I enquired as to why Tom was now so diminished in stature. But of course the answer was obvious - it was the hospital treatment and the medicine that had made Tom smaller.

Oh, of course. Because when you're four, an explanation like that goes down real smooth. Something so obvious is self-evident, once you think about it. After all, hospitals must be full of harsh abrasive medicines which would make people shrink like that. Such a thing seemed entirely plausible - common sense, in fact. And so, my curiosity satisfied, I accepted this version of events, and went about the busy life that four-year-olds tend to lead.

It wasn't until much later that I realised. Because you know.. I don't think there IS a toy hospital. And I think that was a different Tom!

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