Would I be a scrooge if...

Would I be a scrooge if I bought second hand toys for my 11 month old son for Christmas?

He'll get new stuff as well, but I'm thinking that at his age he won't know or care what stuff is or where it came from, and I might aswell save myself a few quid and stash it away for next year's Christmas.

Would that make me a bad dad?

 

That would make you a brilliant Dad Clueless. It's only when they get older that they may or may not whinge. My kids can't even remember what I bought them last year for the most part and they aren't even babies anymore.


My 15 yr old is a pretty good bass guitar player and he wanted a particular make of bass last year so I bought him one second hand as there was no way on God's green could I fork out £1700 for a new one. It had scratches on and was missing a string but as he said-it adds character.


edit....where were you all tose years ago when I wanted someone to give all my kids toys away rather than trip up over them or cut my feet treading on that infernal devils creation that is lego!

 

I think there's an age when it can be done which passes to one where it can't and then back again when it can.
Infants don't know, so it doesn't matter, under tens will likely feel a bit cheated. Over tens can understand the economics.

The only thing about second hand toys is whether you can "sanitise" them before giving them something.

I've got to admit our three kids always had "new."
No passing of bikes down etc., although "scruff" (clothes, for just playing out in were OK to pass down).

There's a bonus element, I've a few pairs of summer shorts, "passed up" to me by my youngest son!

 

Second hand instruments are always acceptable if they are good ones, it gives "street cred," as it looks as if you've been playing it for years, but "never mentioned it." They are far better value for money and often better made than subsequent models.

 

"The only thing about second hand toys is whether you can "sanitise" them before giving them something."


Dettol.................even we were occasionally bathed in the stuff by our Mum. Ring sting like you wouldn't believe lol.

 

"Birthday, Brian' written in them (my wife's name isn't Brian!) -"


Hysterical John.

 

I'm digressing here...



Whenever Christmas presents for kids are mentioned, it always reminds me of this, one of the stories by the Canadian author Steven Leacock, from his book called "Literary Lapses" written between the two world wars.

I've another story of his I'll add if we ever get onto; "how tough we had it in our youth."


Hoodoo McFiggin's Christmas

This Santa Claus business is played out. It's a sneaking,
underhand method, and the sooner it's exposed the better.

For a parent to get up under cover of the darkness of
night and palm off a ten-cent necktie on a boy who had
been expecting a ten-dollar watch, and then say that an
angel sent it to him, is low, undeniably low.

I had a good opportunity of observing how the thing worked
this Christmas, in the case of young Hoodoo McFiggin,
the son and heir of the McFiggins, at whose house I board.

Hoodoo McFiggin is a good boy--a religious boy. He had
been given to understand that Santa Claus would bring
nothing to his father and mother because grown-up people
don't get presents from the angels. So he saved up all
his pocket-money and bought a box of cigars for his father
and a seventy-five-cent diamond brooch for his mother.
His own fortunes he left in the hands of the angels. But
he prayed. He prayed every night for weeks that Santa
Claus would bring him a pair of skates and a puppy-dog
and an air-gun and a bicycle and a Noah's ark and a sleigh
and a drum--altogether about a hundred and fifty dollars'
worth of stuff.

I went into Hoodoo's room quite early Christmas morning.
I had an idea that the scene would be interesting. I woke
him up and he sat up in bed, his eyes glistening with
radiant expectation, and began hauling things out of his
stocking.

The first parcel was bulky; it was done up quite loosely
and had an odd look generally.

"Ha! ha!" Hoodoo cried gleefully, as he began undoing
it. "I'll bet it's the puppy-dog, all wrapped up in
paper!"

And was it the puppy-dog? No, by no means. It was a pair
of nice, strong, number-four boots, laces and all,
labelled, "Hoodoo, from Santa Claus," and underneath
Santa Claus had written, "95 net."

The boy's jaw fell with delight. "It's boots," he said,
and plunged in his hand again.

He began hauling away at another parcel with renewed hope
on his face.

This time the thing seemed like a little round box. Hoodoo
tore the paper off it with a feverish hand. He shook it;
something rattled inside.

"It's a watch and chain! It's a watch and chain!" he
shouted. Then he pulled the lid off.

And was it a watch and chain? No. It was a box of nice,
brand-new celluloid collars, a dozen of them all alike
and all his own size.

The boy was so pleased that you could see his face crack
up with pleasure.

He waited a few minutes until his intense joy subsided.
Then he tried again.

This time the packet was long and hard. It resisted the
touch and had a sort of funnel shape.

"It's a toy pistol!" said the boy, trembling with
excitement. "Gee! I hope there are lots of caps with it!
I'll fire some off now and wake up father."

No, my poor child, you will not wake your father with
that. It is a useful thing, but it needs not caps and it
fires no bullets, and you cannot wake a sleeping man with
a tooth-brush. Yes, it was a tooth-brush--a regular
beauty, pure bone all through, and ticketed with a little
paper, "Hoodoo, from Santa Claus."

Again the expression of intense joy passed over the boy's
face, and the tears of gratitude started from his eyes.
He wiped them away with his tooth-brush and passed on.

The next packet was much larger and evidently contained
something soft and bulky. It had been too long to go into
the stocking and was tied outside.

"I wonder what this is," Hoodoo mused, half afraid to
open it. Then his heart gave a great leap, and he forgot
all his other presents in the anticipation of this one.
"It's the drum!" he gasped. "It's the drum, all wrapped
up!"

Drum nothing! It was pants--a pair of the nicest little
short pants--yellowish-brown short pants--with dear little
stripes of colour running across both ways, and here
again Santa Claus had written, "Hoodoo, from Santa Claus,
one fort net."

But there was something wrapped up in it. Oh, yes! There
was a pair of braces wrapped up in it, braces with a
little steel sliding thing so that you could slide your
pants up to your neck, if you wanted to.

The boy gave a dry sob of satisfaction. Then he took out
his last present. "It's a book," he said, as he unwrapped
it. "I wonder if it is fairy stories or adventures. Oh,
I hope it's adventures! I'll read it all morning."

No, Hoodoo, it was not precisely adventures. It was a
small family Bible. Hoodoo had now seen all his presents,
and he arose and dressed. But he still had the fun of
playing with his toys. That is always the chief delight
of Christmas morning.

First he played with his tooth-brush. He got a whole lot
of water and brushed all his teeth with it. This was
huge.

Then he played with his collars. He had no end of fun
with them, taking them all out one by one and swearing
at them, and then putting them back and swearing at the
whole lot together.

The next toy was his pants. He had immense fun there,
putting them on and taking them off again, and then trying
to guess which side was which by merely looking at them.

After that he took his book and read some adventures
called "Genesis" till breakfast-time.

Then he went downstairs and kissed his father and mother.
His father was smoking a cigar, and his mother had her
new brooch on. Hoodoo's face was thoughtful, and a light
seemed to have broken in upon his mind. Indeed, I think
it altogether likely that next Christmas he will hang on
to his own money and take chances on what the angels
bring.

 

And I know your email address, so I may just snitch on you John lol.

Lovely little ditty that Doghouse, what a shame for him. When was it written, because if my father were to read that he would think the boy was spoilt lol.

 

Poor Hoodoo McFiggin. That's one kid that will grow up without any hopes and aspirations, now that he knows that no matter how hard he prays and wishes for things, he aint getting nowt. I guess that's life though eh?

 

My parents were quite hard up when I was a child, I can remember just after the war, I must have been about four or five, among the presents in my pillowcase, were an orange and a cracker. Probably to help fill it up among other presents.
I remember these particularly as I doubt if I'd seen such things before.
I remember the cracker and those that must have been in the original box were "lethal," the "cracker" bit burned your hand when you pulled it.

I didn't go short as a child. Before the war my mother worked for Lines Brothers in South Merton, who made Triang Toys and Restmore prams, she was a machinist.
During the war they gave her a different job at the factory, she was involved in the production of canon shells for Hurricanes. She brought two of them home to show her sister. (just the "business end," not the back end where the explosive went). I had them for about twenty years.
They had no metal for toys, but they carried on making painted wooden toys; fire engines, buses, trucks etc., She often brought me one home at the end of the week.

 

the person who pinched my daughters pram some years ago (was a right scrooge !).my daughter had come into the house for lunch,went out to play again,her pram was gone!. that was the last we seen the pram again till xmas day ,which would be about 5 months after it had been purloined from the front of the house. my wife and i were watching some of the kids out playing with their toys we noticed this wee girl pushing her (hand painted) twin pram with the very noticable marks on the front of the pram(which my daughter had scraped against our fence) it was her pram!.
we never said anything to the child (poor wee thing).i found out where her parents lived and had
a few words to the wise. no other toys were removed after that (he was a right scrooge) i ask you a hand painted /pinched pram for your daughters xmas!!!:(

 

Yes that is low. It's one reason why I've always been reluctant to buy things from second hand shops. I suspect they are often used by thieves as an outlet for their wares.

Charity shops are different though, I'd buy stuff from those. I can't imagine many thieves nick stuff just to give them away to charity. They'd have to be the least bright thief on the planet to risk getting done when the reward for getting away with it is nothing more than some charity makes a few quid.

 

There was always the occasional situation at work where a tearful mother came to customer services to complain that the beautiful new pushchair she'd left in one of the foyers had disappeared, but there was a tatty old one which had been left in the same position.