Of Bugs, Cars, and Creepy Crawlers
The toys of my childhood left a mark—literally.
The sharp click-clack of Klik Klaks, aka Clackers, is etched into my memory, echoing through our house as those acrylic balls swung dangerously close to faces, arms, my mother’s ceramic elephant collection, and who knows what else. To this day, I’m still surprised that my sisters and I never knocked each other senseless with those swinging spheres of doom. A single misplaced swing could have flattened someone Muhammad Ali–style.
But if Clackers were the soundtrack of my childhood, then Hot Wheels, Creepy Crawlers, and a frequently used bug habitat were its heartbeat. My first Hot Wheels car was a bright red Mustang that my daddy bought for me after I told him (at age eight) that I wanted a Mustang of my own. Santa ensured I received enough Hot Wheels track the following Christmas to circle my bedroom floor, run down the hallway, and back again—twice. He also made sure that my stocking overflowed with fabulous new cars to join my candy apple red Mustang in endless races around curves and down straightaways to the finish line. It never got old.
Obviously, my parents never blinked at toys that could leave a mark, so clearly, one of the best Christmas gifts for their pre-pubescent daughter was a Creepy Crawlers set, with its bottles of Plasti-Goop and metal molds, and an actual hot plate—a marvel of mid-century toy design. I loved that thing. We poured, we baked, and we pulled out rubbery critters that were the best for pranking little sisters or filling the bug habitat when live critters weren’t cooperating. Sometimes the rubber bugs were enough, but the real thing held me captive more often than not. That’s where my bug habitat came in—shaped like a little plastic dome, it gave me a front-row seat to nature’s most extraordinary transformations. I caught trapdoor spiders (carefully) and fed them a never-ending diet of houseflies. I watched as caterpillars spun cocoons and emerged as butterflies, releasing them back into the world with all the care I could muster.
But my life wasn’t all miles of track, burning plastic, and critters in plastic domes. I spent many afternoons plotting Barbie fashion shows, planning Barbie’s next romantic date with Ken, and redecorating Barbie’s house with my sisters. I wasn’t immune to Barbie’s charms or choosing which Lucky Locket Kiddle I’d wear to school the next day. But when I was young, the toys that stuck with me were the so-called “boy’s toys.” They weren’t just diversions; they sparked my curiosity and taught me to observe the world around me (especially the bug world).
As we celebrate vintage toys in this issue, I’m reminded that childhood play rarely fits neatly into the categories marketers tried to create. Sometimes the best toys were the ones that didn’t care if you were a boy or a girl. They simply gave you room to imagine, tinker, and discover, and in my opinion, those memories last.
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