Good Old Fashioned Fun

Our red wooden wagon and I have a history. I begged and begged James to buy it for Josie around her second birthday, but I didn’t want just any wagon. I had to have a classic Radio Flyer with the wooden rails. I didn’t want one of those tacky plastic things you see so often nowadays, that fade to a dismal pink shade after their first summer of being left out in the sun, that have a dozen different upgrades like cup holders and seat buckles and canopies, the ones you can find at practically any garage sale. You’d be surprised how hard it is to find a new, traditional style wagon. Those you can find come with a hefty price tag on them. Yet somehow we gifted ourselves with this little luxury.

I toted little Josie around in this red wooden wagon day after day after day. We went around the block, down the hill, up the street, and back. This is the same wagon I used to put myself into labor when I was 38 weeks pregnant with Jamie. I pulled Josie on a never-ending wagon ride until my body had no other option but to begin contracting….and my son was born that same night. By the time Jamie was a few months old I had plopped his chunky butt in a Bumbo seat and started bringing him along for wagon rides as well. We’d even load up the dogs from time to time and it wasn’t uncommon for me to get a silly glance from an occasional passerby. But as children do, Josie and Jamie got older and as they got older they got bigger and as they got bigger they got heavier. My beloved red wooden wagon couldn’t take the strain. So it spent most of last summer in pieces and the kids would actually fall out the end if I came to too abrupt of a stop. James was never able to find the time to repair it (he insisted that it wasn’t worth the trouble and that we might as well just trash the old thing) so I eventually fastened my metaphorical tool belt, in true stubborn Navy wife fashion, and fixed it myself. Then the harsh winter hit us hard and my poor, old, beloved red wooden wagon spent six months under ice and snow. As much as I loved that wagon, it’s future was looking grim.

As a part of our moving preparations I drug out the wagon from under the patio deck earlier this week to decide whether we would take it with us or leave it behind. Jamie’s face lit up the instant he saw me pulling it into the sunlight. It was filled with dead leaves and a huge puddle of dirty rain water, and it was laced with spider webs and dead bugs, but the kids didn’t care. They dropped whatever shiny new plastic toys they were playing with and rushed to the wagon’s side like it was their long lost puppy dog brought home at last. I asked if they wanted to help me clean it out and their answer was a resounding “yes!” In fact, I don’t think I was able to turn on the hose and find the scrub brush fast enough. We took turns spraying and sudsing and scrubbing that wagon, then we patted it dry with some old bathroom towels.

The moment I said, “Okay. We’re done,” Jamie had already clambered inside and found himself a spot at the front of the wagon. Josie took the back seat and little Johnny was placed in the middle.

The same amount of enthusiasm that Josie and Jamie showed for taking a wagon ride, Johnny showed for NOT taking a wagon ride. He cried and screamed…and then just when I thought he was beginning to enjoy the ride, he screamed and cried some more.

But the older two sat more serenely than I can remember them ever doing before. They stared over the old wooden rails, off into the distance at the sky and the trees, as if they were contemplating some philosophical thoughts far beyond their maturity, like maybe the writings of Henry David Thoreau and the transcendental movement.

And I stared at them and enjoyed the simplicity and the peacefulness of it all.

Our house is filled with a lot of shiny new toys, with the flashing lights and blaring sounds. Fisher Price and Little Tikes have profited greatly from James’ paychecks. Josie’s My Little Ponies and Jamie’s Imaginext airplanes are some of their favorite toys. But no amount of brightly colored plastic can compare to the simple charm and good old fashioned fun that a rugged old wooden wagon has to offer.