There’s a Toys R Us store on my way home from church. As you probably know,
that retailer filed for bankruptcy, so the store has had a going-out-of-business sale going on for quite a while. I stopped in last night just out of curiosity.
What I saw was pretty sad. Most of the store had empty shelves, and we were
only allowed to shop at the front part of the store which was cordoned off and lightly stocked with the last remaining items. I believe the sign on the front of the
store said the sale would last for six more days.
What I saw last night wasn’t the Toys R Us that I grew up with. When I
was a kid in the 80s, going to Toys R Us was always a magical, anticipated,
epic treat. The store that we would go to was huge and was stocked with every
toy you could imagine. (Or maybe it seemed so huge because I was so little.) The
sale items, marked with yellow or red price tags, were always a welcome sight
-- especially when your dad was out of work and money was tight for everybody. When
I got older, I used to shop more in the video game section (for our Atari), but
I always thoroughly enjoyed my visit to that store (and I’m glad I bought what
I did, because I was able to sell most of it on eBay years later).
But last night, it seemed like they had been emptying out the dark
corners of their warehouse. There was a huge shelf full of plastic troll
figurines, a display of personalized cheap-looking plastic Christmas ornaments
(that were supposed to light up but didn’t seem to work), maybe like two or
three Star Wars action figures, and dozens of C batteries (which, even at 60%
off, would still be a better deal at Dollar Tree). There were also still
some Babies R Us items for sale. I was kind of hoping to find some candy at the
checkout lines -- which is a pretty standard sight at almost any retailer
nowadays -- but there wasn’t any. (Purchasing a cheap little refreshment on my
way out is sometimes my way of saying, “Thanks for letting me browse.”) Unless
they already sold it all.
As I drove away without buying anything, I thought about how my
favorite childhood toy store was probably yet another dead retailer that failed
to change with the times. I mean, if you sell toys in close proximity to
breastfeeding accessories, who are you catering to? Stay-at-home moms. And how do
they shop? As cheaply as possible. Where? Online, of course, because you can
buy used stuff there without having to lug your family around to any garage
sales. And if they bring their kids to shop with them at your actual store, it
would be retail suicide to not stock your checkout lanes with candy.
Rest in peace, Geoffrey. I’m glad I was a Toys R Us kid.
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Last night and this morning, MeepMeep has been displaying some signs of
going into heat yet again -- separation anxiety, insatiable appetite for
affection, nestling her head towards her chest. (This photo is completely unrelated
to this phenomenon.) I’m hoping her hormones have just been petering out each
time she gets like this, but I’m still prepared for anything.
And yesterday morning as I was trying to fall back to sleep, she
scratched my eyelid. I think it was a playful act, considering that the sight
of my closed eye peering out from underneath the covers was probably something
that stimulated her feline curiosity. But for the rest of the day, I wondered if
perhaps I should plot to trim her nails. (Macho and Choochie used to let me do
that once a month, but MeepMeep hasn’t been as, er, submitted to my household
leadership in this particular area.) And she’s kneading her long claws into my
arm while I’m typing the remainder of this paragraph. Ow.
And yet, I wouldn’t change her for anything. Her tremendous energy,
strength, and appetite for affection all contribute to who she is. There
is a taming process that needs to be ongoing, but I don’t regret that she is
who she is. In fact, I like her that way. And the more I get to know her, the more
I like her.
I daresay God feels the same way about me. Maybe that’s why He hasn’t
spiritually declawed me or given me some kind of lobotomy. He’s given me the
Holy Spirit to help me walk in self-control, and then He instructs me to go get
’em, tiger. Rawr.
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I don’t want to start any political arguments with this ingredient in the casserole; I just want to be honest about how I feel. I’m half-Mexican, and I think I should weigh in on the current
hot-button issue of children being separated from their parents at the border. I
have mixed feelings about it. At the risk of sounding insensitive, I’ll say it
in Spanish: Muchos mexicanos son muy mañosos. That means many Mexicans are very
naughty.
I’ll say it another way: Mexican people can be very lawless if they’re
not careful.
Here’s what I mean. Mexican people are warriors. That’s who we are;
that’s how God made us. We can be quite lazy, and that’s a stereotype, but I
think that’s the devil robbing us of our steadfastness. God created us
mexicanos to be a very sturdy bunch of people. Many of us are small, fast, and
shrewd. (And we’re fiercely loyal, sometimes to a fault.) These are all
qualities that are needed on a battlefield. If we use them the right way, we’re
like ninjas.
But if we use these qualities the wrong way, we mexicanos can become a
very deceitful, lawless bunch of folks who act more like animals than people.
My birth mother was originally from Mexico, and she was a compulsive liar who
taught us how to be like her, so I know what I’m talking about.
Perhaps you’ve seen news or documentary footage of illegal-immigrant
families trying to live ordinary lives here in the United States. If they hear
that immigration officers (la migra) will be in the area, they’ll lock
themselves down in their own homes -- nobody will go to work, the children won’t
go to school, the entire family will hold their breath until the coast is
clear. What kind of a life is that? And what kind of lesson are you teaching
your children?
I love this country, I’m glad I was born here, I’m glad the Mexican
half of my family immigrated here legally, and I hope the folks who want to
make my country their home will do so the right way. Have you seen the news
lately? Lawlessness is already everywhere, and there’s no need for it to continue to spread.
At the same time, there’s no need to rip a child away from his or her
parents -- whether they abide by the law or not. For myself personally, I’m not really sure which would
have been worse: Being raised by a deceitful mother or being separated from her
when I was a little girl. But there’s no need to put innocent children through
that trauma. It looks like steps are slowly being taken to fix this terrible
situation in our country. But in the meantime, I pray that those kids who have
already been separated from their parents will be reunited with them as soon as
possible.
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Remember those cartoons where a prisoner would keep track of how many
days they’ve been incarcerated by putting a hash mark on the wall? The other
day while I was at work, when I looked down at the paper that I use to keep
track of my quota, the hash marks reminded me of that. I guess you could
say that I’ve been in a prison for a while, and I guess you could say
that I’ll be stuck here for another couple of months.
But I’m honestly extremely thankful for the paycheck, no matter how
tiny it is. And I’m extremely thankful to have work, period, because, well...
“For even when we were with you, we commanded you this: If anyone will
not work, neither shall he eat.” (2 Thessalonians 3:10)
“When you eat the labor of your hands, you shall be happy, and it shall
be well with you.” (Psalm 128:2)
“Here is what I have seen: It is good and fitting for one to eat and
drink, and to enjoy the good of all his labor in which he toils under the sun
all the days of his life which God gives him; for it is his heritage.” (Ecclesiastes
5:18)
At my previous job, I dreaded and hated Fridays. It didn’t seem fair.
Everyone around me was enjoying Friday and looking forward to the weekend. But
those of us who worked in my department would have an overabundance of work.
People would heap proofs on my desk, in preparation for the weekend, and expect
me to finish it by the end of the day. If I stayed late to finish it all,
whoever was locking the building at 6 p.m. that evening would pressure me to
get out of there, and then I would have to explain to people later why I wasn’t
able to finish their work. And if the other editor had taken the day off, it
was often worse because I would have to cover for her. Oh, Friday was miserable.
Now that I’ve been working at what is basically a clerical factory, the
workload doesn’t change from day to day, so I’ve begun to feel myself actually
enjoying Fridays again. I get paid every Friday, so the highlight of my week
has been shopping at the grocery store on my way home on Fridays. (Depending on
the week, sometimes I’ll go on a Thursday or a Saturday instead.) Oh, it’s
glorious! Yes, I only have enough money to buy essential items, but I can
barely express to you how gratifying it is to labor for a week and then immediately
enjoy the fruit of my labor. I think it’s a beautiful thing.
When I get a better job in the future, if my routine changes, I think I’m
going to miss it. And I’ll always remember it with fondness.
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