Being back at the Williamsburg store reminds me of one of my most memorable moments here at Area Kids. There's a tendency for local parents, on rainy days, to start eyeing the North 5th and Bedford mini-mall as a sort of refuge, a place to get some hot coffee and let their kids run amuck. Inevitably, our colorful, kid-friendly, chock-full-of-toys store draws anyone under the age of twelve like moths to a flame and suddenly I find myself an ad hoc babysitter, minus cable tv, access to the fridge, or ten bucks an hour.
So, needless to say, when the young daughter of a Spoonbill (the lovely bookstore across the way)employee came in, I was less than ecstatic. However, her quiet, thoughtful manner quickly won me over as I pointed out the store items under five dollars, one of which was a set of Guatemalan worry dolls. I explained that you were meant to tell the dolls your worries and put them under your pillow at night, when the dolls would take your worries away. She abruptly handed me a sweaty five dollar bill and was out the door.
A few minutes later she came back, worry dolls clutched to the front of her dress. She asked me if they only took away your worries at night. I said I'd only ever tried them when I went to bed, so I couldn't guarantee they'd work during the day but that a nap might be enough. Turning on her heel, she went to leave, then paused. How long? she asked. Fifteen minutes I said.
Fifteen minutes later, she's breathlessly exclaiming to me that, it worked! It worked! I said I felt silly that I'd never thought to try it during the day. She asked me how they make them--and I was about to explain, well you just take a thin piece of wood and wrap embroidery floss around it (I made them myself when I was a kid)--then thought better of it. Luckily, because then she clarified her question. I mean, how do they make them take your worries away, she asked.
Ah, I said, well. I don't know how they make them take your worries away, because they're made in Guatemala, so you'd have to ask a Guatemalan and I've never met any.
She contemplated this, maybe a bit sadly.
But, I said, even if you asked someone from Guatemala, I bet they wouldn't tell you, because then just
anybody could do it.
Then a look came over her face, as though she'd harnessed all the magic in the world, and was now in possession of some secret power that made her special and fearless and capable of believing forever in the good. Or maybe that was just me. Magic is so freaking awesome.
