My husband used to collect dolls. They weren’t like the porcelain dolls in pretty dresses sitting on metal stands. Oh, I am so sorry. He informed me they weren’t ‘dolls’, they’re called ‘action figures.’ I had a Jem and the Holograms doll when I was little. She was an action figure. Her earrings lit up.
“Jem, Jem is excitement.
Ooouu Jem, Ooouu Jem is adventure.”
Jem was truly, truly outrageous. Her earrings LIT UP. None of my husband’s dolls, sorry Action Figures, light up. When I met him, he had dolls (he keeps fussing, sorry ACTION FIGURES!) lining his shelves and staring at me. I helped add to his collection. I bought him the Beetleguise and a Donnie Darko Frank the Bunny. As my husband and I grew older, slowly the dolls or action figures, began finding their way into boxes, and finally they were placed deep into the back of the attic.
We bought a house, a real adult house. It had stairs and levels. Our first night in the new home, we ran from room to room like kids discovering more and more toys under the Christmas tree. We had never lived in a place with so many rooms. Our adult house had an attic, a creepy place where you can hear critters scurrying across the roof. I hate the attic. In order to keep hiding the dolls/action figures, I have to venture up there occasionally. I visit the basement more frequently.
The basement is where we do laundry, and giant caveman crickets live down there. I throw the Tide Pod in the washing machine as fast as humanly possible and then I toss in the dirty clothes, and I RUN for my dear precious life. I don’t know what a caveman cricket is capable of doing to a woman. I think they’re there to scare me into wearing dirty underwear all the time.
Why else would they hang out in the basement? I refuse to let them win. I like clean underwear and freshly washed pajama pants. My coworkers probably like me wearing clean clothes. I have to face the necessary evil that is our basement. To add an air of glamour to our basement, my husband has placed a few of his dolls (Oh for the love of all that is holy, they are dolls… quit telling me I have to call them Action Figures. They are dolls. Fine, action figures. Whatever, I am over this debate.) He’s placed his leftover prized Action Figures in the basement so the caveman crickets have friends.
A year ago, our son saw one of my husband’s Action Figure dolls and he wanted to play with the toy. My husband took it off the shelf and handed the action figure doll to his son. It was a real passing of the torch. A father and son bonding moment over a doll. The first toy he passed down to his son was Captain Spaulding from Rob Zombie’s “House of 1000 Corpses.”
Our son plays with Captain Spaulding EVERY DAY. He loves his creepy mass murdering, fried chicken making clown action figure doll. As for me, I think it’s weird and I want to hide Captain Spaulding in the attic with Todd McFarlane’s Elizabeth Bathory and Spawn action figure dolls.
Captain Spaulding has seen a transformation since he entered the hands of a little boy. He’s a real changed man. On a day to day basis, he helps the Fisher-Price Little People do all kinds of things. He helps them cook. He even helps them onto the bus.
Captain Spaulding will hug his friends and tell them, “I wuv you.” He kisses each of them as they climb onto the bus, and then he climbs onto the bus and drives them to school. Sometimes they crash and he helps the kids back up.
I’ve bought my son a huge Spiderman action figure doll for Christmas in hopes he will put Captain Spaulding down. Then I can snatch him up and place him in the attic. Please don’t ruin my son’s Christmas and my plan to rid our home of Captain Spaulding by telling my son about my top secret plan.
However, Captain Spaulding is a toy. He is a good guy in my son’s eyes. He is a helping, polite fun loving clown. My son has created the image he sees. I understand it is his imagination that has made Captain Spaulding into something special, and something loved. The same love my husband had for all those action figures he collected for many years. They were special to him and one day they will come out of the attic and find their way into my son’s hands. They will become a little treasure passed on from a father to his only child.
Or they may find their way into a yard sale. Only time really knows what’s in store for the box of hidden dolls in the attic. Sorry, I mean ACTION FIGURES.