The low, low price of...discernment?

It was the summer of 1985. I had just turned 11 and was busy riding my bike, reading, hitting a tennis ball against the side of the house (and sometimes a window) with a tennis racquet, and soaking up the summer sun. Inside, and as a true child of the 80s, the TV was my babysitter. And it wasn’t even a great TV. We didn’t know what was in store for us in the decades ahead. We had a sweet console which housed a decent sized cathode ray tube set. It had a “clicker” which would take you through the six (yes, kids, six) channels, but it was easier to just sit with your nose touching the glass and you could reach over and turn the dial as needed. On this magical box, I watched The A-Team, Who’s the Boss, The Disney Sunday Movie, Punky Brewster, and Silver Spoons.  In addition to the current line-up, I enjoyed reruns of Leave it to Beaver, Scooby Doo, Alice, Gilligan’s Island, The Waltons, Little House on the Prairie, and The Brady Bunch.

In between the regular programming were commercials. During the daytime, most commercials were aimed at the stay-at-home-Mom demographic, plugging laundry detergent, time-saving cleaning products, and Dexatrim. But manufacturers and marketers got smart about this time and realized there might be a more direct route to one of their largest consumer groups – kids. Instead of showing a gadget or toy to a Mom, busy cleaning her house and dieting, why not show it directly to the kid? Run spots during their shows, they see the product, want the product, and then go beg for the product. Genius.

This was also just prior to the concept of infomercials. Still living in an idyllic, cocoon that was once the good, ‘ol USA, one could order something by calling an 800 number or sending a post card or letter (!) and then had the payment options of paying by credit card immediately (unheard of), mailing a check, or COD – cash on delivery. You ordered, they delivered, you paid in the driveway. How odd does that seem now in our Amazon and cloud-based world? Prior to free and flat-rate shipping, there were “S&H” (shipping and handling) charges applied to all phone orders.

As an unwitting, captive audience, I fell victim to one such product and learned the hard way the sinister implication of the “as seen on tv” label. The name has escaped me, but here’s the gist:  a hard, plastic ring (think a smaller, thicker hula hoop), maybe 14” in diameter, with a small, rubber ball which ran around an inside track of the ring. You propelled the ball by placing it on the track, then gently lifting and lowering the ring in your hand in a quick up-and-down motion, creating centripetal force. That’s it. That’s all it did. No batteries. No cord. No lights. You moved your arm and the ball spun around inside this ring.

For whatever reason, this toy appealed to me.  I saw that commercial and, much to the manufacturer’s and marketing agency’s pleasure, made the commitment:  I must own this toy. It was something ridiculous like $19.99 + $4.95 S&H. I saved my money. I begged and borrowed from parents and grandparents. And then I ordered it. And waited. And waited. The commercial promised delivery in 8-12 weeks which, in kid time, is a couple of years. It’s entirely possible, by the time one of these orders arrived, the recipient more than likely had outgrown it or just plain forgotten about it.

Then one day in late summer, the mailman announced his arrival with a long squeak of his brakes as he stopped in front of my house. I exchanged an envelope containing paper and coin currency for the box he held which looked as though it had been kicked from the warehouse rather than driven. My heart leapt. I couldn’t wait to enjoy the same fun the kids in the commercial had shown me would be mine once I owned this toy. I took it out and immediately began to play with it (no assembly required). But then, just like that, it dawned on me. Hey, wait, this isn’t fun. This is lame. This is super lame. As I watched the mailman make his way down the street, I immediately regretted parting with my money.

Summer came and went, much like the fun of owning that toy. I lost the ball, leaving me with an entirely useless plastic hoop. It sat in the corner of my room, then my closet, then the attic, mocking me each time I saw it. Years later, I realized it wasn’t the toy I bought for the $25 but a life lesson. Things aren’t always what they seem.

I remembered this childhood memory the other day when I saw a commercial for this:

Hold onto your allowances, kids. Trust me.