Treacherous toyland

When I was little my mother gave me some simple advice on how to be an exemplary birthday-present recipient. The instructions were:

1. Always keep your eyes on the gift bearer’s face. Fight with every fibre of your being not to ogle the parcel in their hands (as an adult this is still hard to do.)
2. Always open the card before the present and take time to read the sentiments inside. Resist the temptation to shake the card for falling cheques or cash (as an adult this is still hard to do.)
3. Open the present in front of the gift bearer so they can share your delight. Never blurt out that you got a bigger one from mum and dad earlier in the day (as an adult this is easy to do. I much prefer small packages.)

Today, instructions are huge where birthday presents are concerned – but they have nothing to do with birthday etiquette. They have everything to do with the toys themselves. Instructions fall into two categories: the instructions that tell you you’re going to need to be a mechanical engineer to construct the thing, and those that tell you the nice rubber ball you’ve just given Johnny might spontaneously explode in his face. Just a warning, it probably won’t happen.

The scary instructions are the most thrilling.

When Josh, our seven-year-old birthday boy, recently received gifts from his closest friends, we seriously believed his life – and others’ - was on the line.

The first present, a super magnet, seemed a great idea for all the family. This thing could sweep up a household’s worth of metallic flotsam and jetsam. It was so powerful it could lift 2.5 kg and might even detect ‘surprise treasures’, like ancient coinage, in the backyard. What we didn’t know is that the super magnet also had the super-destructive capabilities of a neutron bomb: ‘Magnet could cause damage to electrical appliances like television, computer screen etc. It also erases or messes up audio tapes, video tapes, credit cards, floppy disks etc’. But wait, there’s more. ‘Never put your magnet close to pace maker and hearing aid devices.’ In other words, stay away from Grandpa!

That was the big magnet. Small magnets are no less dodgy. In one toy, whose whole reason for being relies on little magnets sticking together to form a model, there was the possibility of a few becoming dislodged. This poses no concern unless you have a pill-popping child. ‘If more than one magnet is swallowed, they may create a significant hazard to the digestive system.’ A significant hazard? You mean the child could be eternally constipated with magnets? Then again, this could create a whole new possibility for the super magnet…

Batteries are a major feature of toy instructions. The first shock came when we realised that most of Josh’s new toys required batteries. The second shock came when we realised we’d have to remortgage the house to buy a supply. The Talking Insult Mirror let us down gently: ‘Your mirror requires 3 AAA batteries (not included). Actually the mirror will still function quite normally, the insults just won’t be too loud)’. Boom, boom.
Batteries have a huge list of do’s and don’ts. DO get your husband to read all this. DON’T attempt to do it yourself. I must admit I did read one instruction though: ‘Never throw the battery into water or fire or disassemble it or weld it.’ Weld it?! Mental note: save welding kit for Josh’s eighth birthday.

Yes, I know it’s pc, but the creepiest thing about safety warnings is that they think up the darkest fate that can befall our innocents who would never dream of getting up to all this mischief. This, along with some shonky translations, makes for gripping reading. Josh received a not-so-remote control car with a lead attached. The instructions read: ‘Do not coil the rope used in the toy set around the neck to avoid danger… Do not coil the rope around the finger to avoid bleeding hurt.’ And worst of the worst: ‘Keep the face away from a running car to avoid expected hurt’ (sic). I guess they were talking about the toy car but who knows in this grim old toyland of ours.

The last gift Josh opened on his birthday was an ant farm. This came with the most hopeful manufacturer’s message of the lot: ‘If we send you ants and a few are dead when you receive them, or if they die soon after, don’t worry. There are more than enough ants.’

It’s a lesson on life none of us should forget.

by Jo-Anne Stubbings

This article was first published in Australian Family Magazine, November 2006.