This is a little flashback – when I was 4 I went to kindergarten in New Orleans, where I lived at the time, and I have a very vivid memory. At recess, the two teachers would drag out two boxes of toys for the kids to play with, and there was a little plastic gun that would click when you pulled the trigger. Every recess, one boy, Adrian would get it and run around, clicking it in the air and smiling, looking like he was having the most amazing time, the absolute best fun that could be had, ever. So I watched him at the next recess. He went to one box, stuck his hand down one side and came out with the gun.

The next recess I was ready. I loitered around the entrance where the teachers brought out the toys. When the first box hit the asphalt I was ready. I stuck my hand down the side and grabbed… nothing. I looked up to see Adrian pull the gun out of the other box and run off, clicking and grinning, completely unaware of the reckless way he was destroying my plans of having that ultimate fun.

I went to my teacher and with crocodile tears, proclaimed “Adrian always has the gun, I can’t use it and play.” Immediately he was asked to share it, and let me use it for a while. He reluctantly handed it over, and I lit up inside! I turned around and put it up in the air and began clicking!

IT WAS… boring. No rush of exhilaration, no adrenaline. Not even kind of fun. I was standing alone, cheap perfunctory toy clutched in my too-small hands, and I was filled with disappointment. No fun to be had here. I quickly divested myself of it and spent the rest of the recess wandering aimlessly about the playground.

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