I never entirely understood the Isle of Misfit Toys in that animated Rudolph movie. I mean the basic concept was clear: A train with square wheels, a fish who flew, a gay Charlie-in-the-Box doing a mean Charles Nelson Reilly impression. These were not “normal” toys. Thus, misfits. Got it.
(Of course there is the exception of the seemingly conventional doll who has inspired four decades of debate as to the possible reason for her misfit designation. My vote: Syphilis.)
In any case, I always hated their pariah status. To me, even at a young age, they seemed less like misfits than rejected playthings of spoiled kids with no imagination. Can you not play with an elephant with polka dots? Is a cowboy riding an ostrich less fun than a cowboy on a boring old horse? And what kind of parents would let their kids toss their toys for superficial flaws anyway. Didn’t they teach their kids that what matters is not shallow surface traits like the shape of one’s wheels but kindness, thoughtfulness, inner beauty?
Okay, perhaps that’s overstating my ten year-old mindset. But I did feel bad for those toys. No toy should be without a child, as the miracle birth of Jesus Christ, and Master Card holiday commercials have taught us.
But now at last, I understand.
I get it.
There should be an Isle of Misfit Toys. Because there are some toys that don’t deserve your love.
I first noticed it a few weeks ago when I was visiting my brother. He pointed out a little electronic keyboard toy of his daughter’s that–get this– reminds you to play it. If you have stopped for a while, it admonishes, TIME TO PLAY THE PIANO!
Just like a mother calling time to wash up for dinner, or time to do your math homework, your child hears TIME TO PLAY THE PIANO. The voice is childlike and friendly, of course, but almost frighteningly upbeat. Not quite like a Stepford Wife; more like a preadolescent Tatum O’Neil after getting into her parent’s cocaine stash. She’s excited. She’s eager. She doesn’t realize how hard she’s squeezing your arm as she pulls you into the second floor music room repeating, TIME TO PLAY THE PIANO.
Annoying, but all in all, relatively harmless.
Then I realized a toy cell phone Thalia had received as a gift does essentially the same thing. She stops playing with it for a moment and it rings.
It calls you.
A toy that literally calls you, and tells you to play with it. A mechanical way of imploring, Pick me up! Playyyyy with meeeeeee. I don’t want to be alooooooone.
For a minute you might almost forget that it’s just a plastic shell inhabited by a couple of AA batteries and not the ghost of Carol Anne.
The call is coming from INSIDE THE HOUSE!
I started to think, what is with all these needy toys? Toys that ask–nay, demand–that you play with them? My brother’s keyboard toy doesn’t ask you in that polite sort of British way, “would you mind, I mean, if you’re not really doing anything else…you know, just sort of (aw shucks) take a moment and play with me? ” It implores you to play. Insists that you play. Or…or….or else. It’s not normal.
And then came the drum.
Not any old drum, but one with electronic lights and bells and music and a switch with four different settings. With every flat-palmed smack of its taut plastic skin, it recites a letter of the alphabet, a number, a note of music. For all I know it can also predict the future and feng shui your apartment, this thing is that impressive.
At first Thalia amused herself with it, happy enough to strike the drum and hear the synsthesized snare sound it played in response. But she’s just a year old. After a brief spell the drum became less interesting than, say, the cat. Or a book. Or the petrified Cheerio that’s been hiding amongst the dust bunnies under the couch for six weeks.
She tossed the drum aside.
That’s when we heard the haunting chorus for the first time.
PLAY THE DRUM, EVERYONE PLAY THE DRUM.
And then again. PLAY THE DRUM EVERYONE, PLAY THE DRUM.
Finally, just one more eerie melodic warning before knocking glasses off our shelves and mysteriously slamming our windows shut: PLAY THE DRUM EVERYONE, PLAY THE DRUM.
There are children in there, I tell you. Zombie children. Drum-playing freaky needy zombie children that want the world’s toddlers to bend to their will. They will repeat this mantra over. And over. And over. Until you have no choice but to succumb to the percussive temptation. They do not want you to learn the alphabet or how to count to ten. They don’t want you to eat or sleep, to kiss your mama or pet your dog. They just want you to hit that drum at any expense.
Children of the Drum.
And then after the third warning, like they never existed, the voices are gone.
And the house is quiet.
Too quiet if you ask me.
96 shards of brilliance… read them below or add one
i think i just wet myself.oh, the funny. the pee-drenched funny…
Tears running down my face. Spoiling the fact that I actually happen to be wearing makeup today. Damn you.Yes, I know the drum. It went to Grandma’s house, our own little Isle of Misfit Toys.
Ummm… I 100% agree with you about the horrible, noisy, obnoxious toys. I remember the glee in my mother’s eyes as my son opened up the ride-on choo choo train from hell that she gave him. We ended up duct-taping the speaker part to at least muffle the sound. And when the batteries went? “I’m so sorry honey, it’s broken.” And my in-laws, oh the in-laws! I cannot even do justice to the rotating plane with weirdo clown on top that shrieked, “3-2-1 Contact!” all the while spinning around and moving up and down. But… I’m a little embarassed to say it. Here I go: I related to the Misfit Toys. I felt like a misfit during my childhood and I felt so sorry for them. I hoped I would find my place like they did. (Is this the saddest thing ever or what? But it is true.) So, while I hate the noisy, attention-greedy toys like the rest of you, I’m just going to have to send any more that come my way to the Island of Evil, Misconceived Toys.
We’ve had an Elmo stroller hanging thing since 1996. It will not die. Sometimes at night I can hear it singing to me. One of my daughters had a Pixel Chick. When you turn it on after not playing with it for a while she says “I thought we were friends?”. Great! Guilt from toys!
I would throw it out the window. Really, I get enough needy from my future MIL.
Wait no, first I would stomp on it and then throw it out the window.The toy, of course, not the MIL.
Hence my very simple rule, which I’m sure will be tested ad nauseum: No batteries. No. Batteries.
Laughing hard in TZ.
Another great post! And my son has that same phone, but unlike most of your readers I love the toys that seem to have a mind of their own. Guess I am crazy, huh.
The entire time I was reading this, the words “RED DRUM” (ask in Redrum) were in my head. I’m so nuts. *L*
Brilliant post.I consign any toy that is electronically “motivated” to the highest, most hidden spot in the closet before they “accidentally” fall into the trash. I never buy them, but my relatives refuse to get a clue.
One tip for your future sanity. Remove the batteries from all electronic toys before giving them to Thalia. She’ll be just as happy pressing things and won’t catch on for several years, so you’ll have several more years of peace.
When we moved to Kansas from California, the fam stayed with Grandma/Grandpa, and I went ahead for about a month before they moved. But our (#)! was delivered in advance of their arrival.So of course, I unpacked the important stuff: stuff to cook with, the DVD player and my clothes. Everything else stayed in the moving boxes because I would have just put it in the wrong places and thus would have had to move it twice.One night I was watching TV and our 3-year-old son’s Tickle Me Elmo started making noise in some box….and I could hear “Tickle Me”….”Bye Bye For Now” and Elmo’s laugh. But I could not find it…it was muffled enough and hidden enough I just couldn’t locate it in or under or behind anything…however, as I watched TV it was cute and made me think of the fam.Until it started going off at 2:30-ish in the morning. Then it sounded alot like Chucky. And it was going to kill me in my sleep.When it was finally unpacked. It was loved, then the kids went to sleep, and I trashed it. You know, cuz it was possessed by Satan and his best friends.And that’s that….
I hated all those toys with a passion. Not only did I not buy them, I would sneak the batteries out of them. Because if a certain book woke me with “ELMO LOVES YOU” one more time, I was going to have to take some unpleasant therapy inducing action.
I thought it was because her legs were sewn on upside down. No?And I’ve already put a moratorium on any kind of toys that make noise. In fact I’ve decided on a “no toys at all” policy for our household. If pots and pans and cardboard boxes were good enough for me, they’ll be good enough for my kids
)
We have, of all things, a talking shape puzzle. (Of course, from grandma) I’ll be walking through the house at night only to hear “OCTAGON!!” coming from the other room. Creepy!
We have that drum too. The cha-cha tune drives me up a wall, but the march is ok. The tune would be coming to an end while Q was sitting near it, playing with something else, and just before it turned itself off, he’d reach out and tap it once. Just once. Then he’d return to playing with whatever else we had.We figured out that he just wanted music, and the drum was a way he could control music. Thank god some friends gave us the Mozart Magic cube – the music is passable, and most importantly, it never says, “play the drum everyone, play the drum!”
Word Girl has the right idea: “Hi. My name’s Chucky. Wanna play?”These are the kinds of toys I LOVE to give to my friends and family. Gifts that keep on giving.You are hilarious.
THE DRUM! WE HAVE THE DRUM! AHHHHHHHHHH!!!
I”m glad to know that about the drum. That thing is cute, I’ve almost gotten it several times.Maybe there was a *reason * I didn’t get the drum….
For God’s sake, stay AWAY from the Bobby Q barbeque toy! That stupid thing never shuts up! Just like so many other toys mentioned here, it would go off in the middle of the night and scared the bejeezus out of everyone in the family.
The doll? Well, I always told my sister the brunette that it was because of her ugly brown hair that she was sent to the island. hehe!Now the elephant I could never figure out! I liked the polka-dotted elephant!My son is 13, so we don’t have to worry about Elmo and his satanic friends. But I’ve had some of these very same thoughts when shopping for baby/toddler gifts!
We avoid “talking” crazy toys. I figure if they are suppose to talk, we will add the words!hehe cute post!
Great post.We have the “say my name” Elmo, and THAT sucker has been in the “off” position for most of the several months we’ve had him. There’s only so much “Hi, (kid’s name), let’s play! Squeeze Elmo’s hand!” that I can stand.I love quiet toys. Like the classic plastic ring stacker. Yeah.
I KNOW why the doll is on the Island of Misfit Toys. Really, I do. I just can´t remember it! Ugh. This will haunt me all night. I am in Portugal right now and my copy of Rudolph is at home in my TV cabinet, so, I can´t solve the mystery. Isn´t it just that she cries and no one wants a doll that cries? That was in the good old days before dolls could fill a diaper and do all sorts of real baby things – ha ha.
I’m in the “they don’t say much if they don’t have batteries” camp, but I left them in the Leapfrog Alphabet Inchworm or whatever he’s called because trying to get it to say curse words amuses me from time to time. For example, it will make the F sound, but then pressing U will make it say, “Hee hee, that tickles.”Thanks for learning with Leapfrog! Bye-bye!
While I don’t have kids yet – though Lord knows what they’ll come up with by the time we do have some – toys that follow you around? (shudder) But it does creep me out the same way Disney’s A Small World ride did. While on it, a friend said “I wonder if the dolls come alive at night” It freaked out all of us! Love the Children of the Drum!
Yes, I have the drum, too. But Vikki’s post reminded me of the Sesame Street See and Say we had about a year ago. My husband could turn the arrow just right, and wiggle the handle enough to make Elmo say “Suck Elmo!” over and over.Suck Elmo, indeed.
yikes?we were gifted the v-tech ball that rolls and sings, and summons the child to obey it, pied-piper style, in the tinny, pop-your-eyes-out eerie voice, to “follow me!!!” as it rolls away.it rolled into the garage one day, and never returned. guess it wasn’t as smart as it thought it was.
Something tells me Hermie the elf would have gladly played with a Charlie in the Box. Or is that a Charlie in the closet?On another note, I worked at Toys R Us as a teenager and one woman brought back a Teddy Ruxpin because she swore the doll was possessed. We returned it and put it back on the shelf but only after genuflecting and crossing ourselves as we repeated over and over “The power of Christ compels you. The power of Christ compels you.”Good times. Good times.
Because my Effexor doesn’t work THAT well – I HAD to go and look it up.The doll? Psychological problems. I KNEW it.(twirls index finger around ear, nods and looks smug)The very reliable source: http://www.tvparty.com/xmasrudolph.html
Here…see? http://www.rankinbass.com/rudolph10.htmlI’ll stop now.
Okay – I didn’t stop. But I’m SO glad I didn’t. This had me giggling until I got the hiccups.http://www.i-mockery.com/shorts/rudolph16/ohmygoodness I NEVER comment here and then look what happens I’m soo so sorry I swear I’m not a weirdo.
You know–I got the thing about the unwanted toys thing that was so wrong. That was about kids rejecting toys, when really, it’s parents that reject these awful toys.I could add to the list: Ferby, Dora, Simon–really anything with batteries. The only hope you have is to remove the fricking batteries, or they will drive you insane. We have an animal popup toy that the children never could follow the electronic voice commands, and it would try to call you back a few times after you ignored it. It was like on all the time. Darn! The batteries corroded and it’s just a normal popup toy now. . .
Sometimes removing the batteries does not work! My brothers had a creepy toy tank that had long since lost the door that held the batteries in and thus had no batteries. But it still made shooting sounds when you pushed the button. For years. Probably still does wherever it is… creeped me out. If my daughter gets any of these toys, they’re never getting batteries put in them. And they’re the first to be donated to the Christmas toy drive.
I LOVED this. WE HAVE THE DRUM. WE HAVE THAT DRUM. And yes, Tad DOES make creepy noises when the batteries run out. And the best part was, when I pulled out some toys for a well needed cull, <><>the f’ng things talked to each other inside the trash bag. In the garage. In the middle of the night.<><> Who needs that headtrip?!In revenge, I remind my sister about payback and karma. She of the ant-farm, she of the frog-terrarium, has one son and is expecting another. VENGEANCE WILL BE MINE!
It’s quite simple. These toys are given as gifts to people whom you don’t like. There is no other rational explanation.Keep track of every gift your child receives. If it turns out to be a “demon gift”, then you know whom to revenge yourself against.Just sayin’
You crack me up!
ok… this is the FUNNIEST story EVER!!! how FUN!!! it kinda makes me wish it WASN’T 70 degrees here in memphis, tn! hahaha. (KINDA!!!!) hahaha. THANK you soooo very much for listing me as “The Place to see this Week!” What an HONOR! and i LOVE that concept! mind if i steal that idea and put a section like that on my blog!?? MERRY CHRISTMAS!! glad to hear you’re feeling better!!
The dog…”Hug Me”, “Peek-a-boo, I see you”…
I actually miss those toys.
The cell phone with it's mysterious text messaging abilities and the I Pod full of I hope I know what, NOW those scare me.
(Well, maybe I don't miss the baby doll that is crushed in the toy box and crying all night.)
Ooh, and to think I almost bought that drum for my kids this year.
We are plagued by a Bob the Builder phone here, that rings and then asks, “CAN WE FIX IT???”
and then it waits for an answer.
Just got this post forwarded to me (as my daughter got this dog that says her name when it talks – but with an eerie, chuckie like pause first – hello… [insert name]… Do you want to play with me… [insert name]?) and I laughed out loud! AWESOME! I always felt bad for the island of misfit toys as well (except that it made for a great nickname for the last table to be filled at any wedding. Hmm, let's see I'm a date to a groomsmen and don't know anyone and I'm sitting with 3 other random dates, a 4th cousin and the minister… yup, table of misfit toys, alright), but now I TOTALLY see your point!
Hey guys,
not to burst your incredibly creative and ultimately hilarious guesses as to why the doll is banished to misfit island, because in truth, a bi polar or lesbian doll would be more interesting than the sad truth:
The doll has red hair.
Back in the day, every doll was made with blue eyes and blond hair. You know, Hitler beauty.
the “norm”.
but this unfortunate little dolly was made with brilliant orange strands, therefore subjected to an island of other misfortunate toys.
poor girl.
red heads are cute, dammit.
Ikr, I no dis story is old n all, but I herd bout dis dude who had a life-size dora doll fer his kid. He took the batteries out of it and it sumhow found its way to da bathroom. He askd his kid if she did it n she sed honestly no. He went to chec on his daughter at nite n da doll was standing ova her wile she was sleep. Remember, THERE WAS NO BATTERIES IN THAT DOLL!! Thats sum creepy stuf. Then, he nu he had ta get rid of it. He destroyed it and wile he did it, it released a demonic laugh. That is reeaally creepy. I wud b callin on da name of jesus..(wile beatin the crap out of the doll)
And then came Discovery Toys to save the Toy Problem!