Posted by Noah St. John on June 02, 2001 at 16:25:29:
I'm going to excerpt my new book in little bite-sized pieces over the next few months. I'll try to make each issue self-contained, but the book is arranged in sections that flow together, so you may need to keep them and read them over to get the full value. So for those who want to be assured of receiving every excerpt, follow the link at the end of the story and sign up for the email newsletter.
~*~ Excerpt 1: What Do You Want, Anyway? ~*~
"My cousin Francis and I are in perfect accord - he wants Milan, and so do I." Charles V (1500 - 1558) Roman emperor, ruler
"Give the lady what she wants!" Marshall Field (1834 - 1906) US merchant [Instructions to one of his store managers]
Winter 1977. A boy of ten. My family has already moved 17 times in my short lifetime. We now find ourselves in a cozy little town on the Maine coast called Kennebunkport. Our best friends in town are a couple named Susan and Bob Jack who own a toy store. (No, that isn't the reason they're our best friends.) My brother, mother, sister and I would visit the Jacks' toy store after school. Before we would enter the store, my mother would explain to us that all we're doing is looking, that we aren't going to buy anything today. I can't remember a day when we did buy anything. The family up the street has three girls, and they seem to get all the toys and clothes and gifts they want. My brother, sister and I just look.
In the Jacks' toy store, there is a raccoon -- not a real one, but a better-than-real puppet. When you put your hand inside the puppet, a tiny loop of string secured underneath its head allows you to move its head around. The raccoon puppet has two little arms too, and when you put your thumb and little finger in the arm holes inside, you can wave and say hi to everyone. That's what I would do when I would take the puppet off the shelf -- carefully put my middle finger in the loop of string, my thumb in the left arm hole and my pinkie in the right -- and then I would wave and say hi and move its head from side to side, just like a real puppeteer.
Then I would carefully put the raccoon puppet back on the shelf...because the raccoon puppet cost $50, and that was more money than I could imagine me or anyone in my family ever having.
Day after day, week after week, the ritual was repeated: my brother, sister, mother and I would walk into the Jacks' toy store, my mother and sister would talk with Mr. and Mrs. Jack while my brother would look at the bikes and kites and models and trains and baseballs and bats and gloves, and I would go to the shelf and put the raccoon puppet on my right hand and wave and say hi. When it was time to leave, I would put the raccoon puppet back on the shelf and never, ever say a word.
Christmas morning. My brother, sister, father, mother and I come down the stairs to find a galaxy of wrapped treasures -- at least it seemed so to my ten-year old eyes. I don't think I was expecting anything, because I had just learned that year that Santa Claus wasn't coming--and it felt like my last hope, gone. I sighed and opened one gift and then another and then...
Wait a minute. One more. It can't be...
It is.
The raccoon puppet. The tiny loop of string. The arm holes for my small fingers. The eyes that seen more years than even I had. I looked at it. Then something strange happened. I did not feel what I thought I would: happy, rapture, ecstasy.
I felt guilty.
Guilty because: how could I have asked for something so expensive when I knew my parents couldn't afford it? How could I have been so selfish? I should give it back...But I don't want to give it back. I really love this raccoon and I want to hold it tight to my chest.
So I kept the raccoon puppet and never, ever said a word about how I felt.
Did I smile? Yes.
Did I play with that raccoon puppet? Yes.
Did I enjoy playing with that raccoon puppet? No, not really.
Always, a pang of guilt came when I picked it up and played with it. In my mind stuck the fact that we didn't have any money, the times we had macaroni and cheese five days in a row, the times we sold our furniture to eat. So on the shelf sat my precious prize.
And still sits -- as a reminder that when we get what we want, it isn't always what we want.