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The Last Toy Psychiatrist
Jun. 18th, 2014 07:46 amSo many memories, so many patients, so many toys – but it’s finally time to retire. My name is Dr. Micah Jordan and I specialized in toy psychiatry. There were never very many of us – it’s not a lucrative field, and I was the last. I loved my work, but today’s computerized “brands” don’t need me, just the occasional software patch. They have no souls.
Toy psychiatry is dead. If “Titanfall,” “Call of Duty,” or “Mario Kart” develop a major problem, the programmers will fix it, and then you can buy the “new and improved” next edition, with 3D graphics! It’s all about the code now, but the truth is that 1’s and 0’s can never be loved like a real toy.
It was different before electronic entertainment – those real toys had real problems. Toymakers knew that, and mental health was one of the benefits they provided for their creations; after all, a sad toy is a bad toy, and no one wanted the toys to be unhappy. The shocking “Toy Story” documentaries showed appalled audiences the kinds of danger even common playthings faced every day.
Once upon a time, my waiting room was filled with those older toys, hoping I could help. I tried my best, and I like to think I succeeded.
Most toys did not need me, but some did. A GI Joe with post-traumatic stress disorder was common; many Barbie Dolls had body image issues, while Ken Dolls were easily afflicted with Peter Pan Syndrome. I did a lot of couples’ therapy. Actual Peter Pan figures, on the other hand, had DMDD – Disney Merchandising Distress Disorder, a crippling belief that you did not measure up to an idealized version of yourself.
Fear of abandonment was frequent among stuffed animals, especially for those who achieved Favorite status. When younger siblings were involved in the family dynamic, Thomas the Tank Engines worried about being chewed by teething toddlers. To this day, I can still remember their scars!
Over the years I dealt with unusual issues. Patients with mouths were easier to help, since they could talk about their problems, but mouthless toys presented real challenges. I saw yo-yo’s who were bipolar, but therapy was difficult -- even my initial session with a mouthless patient could be hard.
“Tell me about your owner – is it a good boy or girl?” Silence was always the result. But what did it mean?
“Do you ever feel nausea while being played with?” More silence, but if a patient fell over, motion sickness was possible, and I would refer the toy for medical care.
“Do you think about harming your child?" Frantic back-and-forth rocking could have been Yes for yo-yo’s, but No for spinning tops (who were always a little unbalanced). I tried to help the tops accept this as normal for them, so they could stop worrying about it.
This last question was important – the number of children hurt by sad toys was surprising. Small toys were choking hazards; sisters used yo-yo’s to hit snotty brothers on the head; foam bullets injured eyes; and Rock‘Em Sock‘Em Robots pummeled kids with their little plastic fists. It took less time than you think for a toy to hurt a child.
One of my most difficult cases involved a Barrel of Monkeys. Selling 12 colored, S-shaped plastic monkeys crammed into a small barrel-shaped container, and then expecting them to hook onto each other to form chains was reprehensible. It might have been fun for the players, but it was torture for the monkeys, who were forced to endure long periods of darkness while jumbled together in a tiny space. No wonder they developed claustrophobia, attachment disorder, and hysterical-conversion paralysis.
The terror eating at the souls of all classic toys was the fear of obsolescence. Before electronic games, there was an accepted order. Building blocks, Tinker Toys, Lincoln Logs and Erector Sets each had their eras. They were made to last, to be passed between brothers and sisters, and even later given to the next generation of children. Older toys had lives of purpose, joy, and yes, sadness, as their boys and girls outgrew them, but never forgot them. The love between children and their toys would never be broken.
My office is across the street from what used to be McClarty’s Toy Store, a family-owned shop with a bin of twenty-five cent toys for little kids just getting their first allowances. It became a Toys “R” Us years ago.
I'll miss this place, and the job. My files are all packed and the movers will be here soon. I have one last patient to see – a family member, my old teddy bear Fuzzy. He's been living with my four-year-old granddaughter, but he's not getting any attention anymore. She'd rather play with her iPhone than him, and he's miserable. The best solution is for me to take him back now; she won’t miss him.
It’s time for Fuzzy and me to go home.
My thanks to![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
halfshellvenus for beta-reading this, and for her thoughtful suggestions.
Toy psychiatry is dead. If “Titanfall,” “Call of Duty,” or “Mario Kart” develop a major problem, the programmers will fix it, and then you can buy the “new and improved” next edition, with 3D graphics! It’s all about the code now, but the truth is that 1’s and 0’s can never be loved like a real toy.
It was different before electronic entertainment – those real toys had real problems. Toymakers knew that, and mental health was one of the benefits they provided for their creations; after all, a sad toy is a bad toy, and no one wanted the toys to be unhappy. The shocking “Toy Story” documentaries showed appalled audiences the kinds of danger even common playthings faced every day.
Once upon a time, my waiting room was filled with those older toys, hoping I could help. I tried my best, and I like to think I succeeded.
Most toys did not need me, but some did. A GI Joe with post-traumatic stress disorder was common; many Barbie Dolls had body image issues, while Ken Dolls were easily afflicted with Peter Pan Syndrome. I did a lot of couples’ therapy. Actual Peter Pan figures, on the other hand, had DMDD – Disney Merchandising Distress Disorder, a crippling belief that you did not measure up to an idealized version of yourself.
Fear of abandonment was frequent among stuffed animals, especially for those who achieved Favorite status. When younger siblings were involved in the family dynamic, Thomas the Tank Engines worried about being chewed by teething toddlers. To this day, I can still remember their scars!
Over the years I dealt with unusual issues. Patients with mouths were easier to help, since they could talk about their problems, but mouthless toys presented real challenges. I saw yo-yo’s who were bipolar, but therapy was difficult -- even my initial session with a mouthless patient could be hard.
“Tell me about your owner – is it a good boy or girl?” Silence was always the result. But what did it mean?
“Do you ever feel nausea while being played with?” More silence, but if a patient fell over, motion sickness was possible, and I would refer the toy for medical care.
“Do you think about harming your child?" Frantic back-and-forth rocking could have been Yes for yo-yo’s, but No for spinning tops (who were always a little unbalanced). I tried to help the tops accept this as normal for them, so they could stop worrying about it.
This last question was important – the number of children hurt by sad toys was surprising. Small toys were choking hazards; sisters used yo-yo’s to hit snotty brothers on the head; foam bullets injured eyes; and Rock‘Em Sock‘Em Robots pummeled kids with their little plastic fists. It took less time than you think for a toy to hurt a child.
One of my most difficult cases involved a Barrel of Monkeys. Selling 12 colored, S-shaped plastic monkeys crammed into a small barrel-shaped container, and then expecting them to hook onto each other to form chains was reprehensible. It might have been fun for the players, but it was torture for the monkeys, who were forced to endure long periods of darkness while jumbled together in a tiny space. No wonder they developed claustrophobia, attachment disorder, and hysterical-conversion paralysis.
The terror eating at the souls of all classic toys was the fear of obsolescence. Before electronic games, there was an accepted order. Building blocks, Tinker Toys, Lincoln Logs and Erector Sets each had their eras. They were made to last, to be passed between brothers and sisters, and even later given to the next generation of children. Older toys had lives of purpose, joy, and yes, sadness, as their boys and girls outgrew them, but never forgot them. The love between children and their toys would never be broken.
My office is across the street from what used to be McClarty’s Toy Store, a family-owned shop with a bin of twenty-five cent toys for little kids just getting their first allowances. It became a Toys “R” Us years ago.
I'll miss this place, and the job. My files are all packed and the movers will be here soon. I have one last patient to see – a family member, my old teddy bear Fuzzy. He's been living with my four-year-old granddaughter, but he's not getting any attention anymore. She'd rather play with her iPhone than him, and he's miserable. The best solution is for me to take him back now; she won’t miss him.
It’s time for Fuzzy and me to go home.
* * * * *
My thanks to
halfshellvenus for beta-reading this, and for her thoughtful suggestions.
