Hot Wheels City
One of my favorite birthday presents of all time was the Hot Wheels City I received from my Aunt Peggy for my 7th birthday. Second only to Fisher Price Little People, Hot Wheels and Matchbox cars were some of my favorite toys—still are to this day.
Hot Wheels City was the best. You could start a car at the top by City Hall and it would race down the ramp to the garage. After playing for hours, all my favorite cars, the most prized being my Daisy Duke inspired white Jeep, could be folded up, stored and carried in the city.
The thing I loved most about Hot Wheels City was the small shops and buildings. There was a fire station, hospital, gift shop, burger joint, bakery and my favorite, The Plant Shop. I spent hours driving my car from place to place, parking my Jeep, and imagining what was happening behind those stickers.
My imagination was rich with interactions between other Hot Wheels City inhabitants—each set of wheels having their own character. The red Ford Pinto was my mom because she drove one until about 1982. The blue Camaro similar to my Aunt Peggy’s spent hours parked at the hospital because she was a pediatric nurse. The Cadillac Seville was my brother—he’s always been classy—and he spent considerable time at the gift shop. The Rolls Royce was a benevolent millionaire who frequently picked up the tab for the Boy Scouts at Old Fashioned Burger. The orange Indy car was a mischievous guy who drove too fast and frequently blocked the shipping dock at the warehouse angering the Atlas Van Lines truck.
My Daisy Duke Jeep spent most of her time parked in front of The Plant Shop because I fixated on that 1”x3” sticker. In my mind, I owned that shop and ran it like a boss. I imagined what the store smelled like, what types of plants I’d stock (philodendrons, peace lilies, spider plants and ferns) how I would water (with a spritzer bottle, of course) and the macrame pot hangers I’d use. I thought about the interactions I’d have with my customers and how my shop would be part of the community. I guess even in 1983 I knew I wanted to be my own boss.
For several years, I really thought I wanted to own a plant shop or florist when I grew up. It wasn’t until about 7th grade when I revealed my dream to a group of peers. They laughed and rolled their eyes and I began to feel silly and uncool. Hell, maybe it was ridiculous to plan a career based on a sticker on a toy I hadn’t played with for several years. At that point, I decided I wanted to be a teacher. It was definitely more socially acceptable and a profession that everyone understood.
I ended up spending the first three years of college as an Education major until I realized I don’t like kids that much and the other teachers were real people, not the infallible heroes I had built up in my head. Eventually, I bailed on teaching and flailed around a few semesters until landing on English because it was the fastest way to graduate.
Who knows what would have happened if I had been encouraged instead of ridiculed? Or what if I had the strength to tell those kids to pound salt? Would I be the proud owner of 150 plant stores across the midwest sharing the story of how I found my “passion” for plants in my Hot Wheels City? Or would I have lost everything in the 2008 recession and be living in a cardboard box? In all reality, I doubt plants were my destiny—I’ve killed three succulents this year alone—but maybe someday I’ll figure out what I want to be when I grow up.
Now it’s your turn. How did you childhood toys influence your career choices? Did you have an erector set to later become an engineer? Did you blow up stuff with your chemistry set only to become a pharmacist? How important are our childhood play habits in developing who we are as adults?
