This past week we had some new people move into the building. I know this because I saw the moving truck downstairs. First thing in the morning, before Rome got insane with already tired adults clogging up the streets, I watched them hand box after box down from the back and into the hallway by the elevator. As I left for work, I noted the “déménagements” written just below the moving company name.  I never saw the people who moved in, but it didn’t take long for me to understand that the new occupants included children. Maybe a herd of them. 

I say a herd because in the ensuing mornings I have recorded handfuls of footsteps barreling across the floor above me. They are fast moving and seem to move on a dime before heading back in the opposite direction, suggesting that perhaps the upstairs apartment has a completely open floor plan. But I doubt it. I have no doubt that the noise is made by children because the footfalls lack that plunk plunk plunk that adults tend to adopt with age. The suggestion that we’re moving a lot of dead weight around—even if we are still managing to maintain some semblance of fitness as the years snail on. There can be no doubt that our energy reserves deplete much faster than we once were used to.

Last week I also had to go to a toy store to buy a birthday present for my godson.  In the weeks leading up to this day (just about the only day where I was sure to log a Google reminder), I became preoccupied with the fact that I was most definitely likely to be out of touch with whatever this kid might be into. So many years had gone by since I’d crossed the imperceptible Rubicon between youth and adulthood. And now these days, I find great escapism and satisfaction in a well-timed afternoon power nap. Or an early morning run where there is almost nobody else around. And even better: both in one day.

So perhaps cheap plastic toys are no longer my main jam. And maybe they are not his either. Doesn’t everyone live online and enjoy the acquisition of intangible rewards that lead you into more complex or engaging virtual entertainment? Either way, both comprise ephemeral entertainment—and maybe with that in mind, not much has changed. As an adult, however, the concept remains the same: I myself no longer opt for such an activity. Much like how as a kid, going to Andy’s Market in Mashpee and walking home while draining a Giant Pixy Stix (it’s a plastic tube filled with flavored sugar) into my mouth is now something that I would never even remotely consider. Old Megan, instead would turn right into Andy’s instead of left—heading toward the wine and beer section. 

So with all of this doubt and memories of plastic and sugar crammed into my head, I drove to the Italian toy store. It’s a place that never fails to make a newly-arrived anglophone snicker because it is called “Bimbo Store” (bimbo is Italian for “little boy”…go enjoy looking up the reverse translation on wordreference.com). The store is very large and reminds me of the one we had in a Hyannis plaza across from the airport that also fortuitously shared space with Chuck E. Cheese. As a kid I remember walking into Tons of Toys and feeling my eyes grow as wide as saucers: the seemingly endless variety of entertainment! There’s something for everyone! Touring through the aisles was the material version of mainlining that Giant Pixy Stix—except I rarely got to leave with anything. But the sense of possibility was palpable. Anything I could ever want in my small world, surely it was here.

Back in the modern day, the shop I now entered had a few parents wandering around with their kids in tow. The children were not yelling or demanding, but it was clear from their faces that their adult parents were the least interesting thing to be looking at. From a plastic suspension bridge at the entrance, to a dozen sections grouped off on their own, it was the definition of a child’s labyrinth for discovery.   

I tried my best to stay focused on my task at hand: the birthday gift. But much like the children around me, I soon found myself more interested in what the shelves had to offer: plastic, metal, and LED wonders. It was immediately obvious that it didn’t matter what country I happened to be in—the themes are always the same when it comes to catering to the elemental interests of children. What I did take delight in was the very many common toys that drew a line directly to my own childhood: the Playmobil sets, the Super Mario Brothers, the Star Wars figures, the fairy princess aisle. Not much changes, even if we do ourselves.

There were other mainstays too that I looked at with a bit of dark humor. The aisle full of fake plastic “homemaking” toys was a bit too much for me. The mini kitchen, the dishes, the shopping cart and supermarket checkout till. All components that we all must access on a daily basis to sustain our version of adult living. I believe we call them chores. Looking at these now, the thought of buying something like this and bestowing it on a child who still had the luxury of opting out of such a practice—well that just seemed cruel.

In the end, I selected something that I thought might be fitting not only the place where I now lived—but also would perhaps provide the child with a few moments away from his screen time. I say “perhaps”, because if he is anything resembling grown up kids like myself, then it is hard to say if I will succeed. I bought a “Made in Italy” Lamborghini with a motor that he could assemble himself (note: I would totally buy this for a girl as well…because Lamborghinis are both ridiculous and cool). And if he didn’t like it, I am also bringing him back a custom-made espresso cup with his name written on it. Because while I don’t think he should be encouraged to be drinking coffee just yet…I just thought it might be a randomly personalized gift. 

I don’t know how it will all go, but it will be a matter of days before I find out. It’s not something that I will spend time agonizing over—mainly because I recognize that it is the thought that counts. Better, I will actually be present to give it to him. To be entertained by whatever reaction or non-reaction that he has. Furthermore, I am tired and forgetful and right now more proud of myself that I got my ass to a store and personally picked something out for him. I also know that like me, his mother is pretty worn out by the days that go by because like me, she is also an adult with a lot of plates to keep spinning. Together, we no longer clatter across the floor like ibex kids, thinking that our energy reserves are endless and that naps don’t make any sense at all. But still, it’s fun to revisit what once was. To marvel at how we’ve changed, and more importantly, to appreciate the opportunity to be present for the little ones coming up into this world after us. That to an adult is one of the best, and indeed most enduring gifts to receive.