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Last Time I Saw Po
"Over the hills and far away, Teletubbies come to play!" - Set of four Teletubbies dolls, back of the box.
The last time I saw Po was when I jammed him into the carriage seat behind Alex on Thursday. I returned to my office after escorting Jill to the doctor's and soon got a call from her saying, "Jeff, where is Alex's red Teletubby?"
Three years ago -- when my hair was ungray and I could still eat dairy before going to bed -- I wouldn't have known what that question meant. Now, however, it means the last doll from Alex's apparently favorite TV show got flung onto a sidewalk somewhere when mom wasn't watching.
Jill and I first saw the Teletubbies show in a suburban London home in 1997. We were staying with a couple who had two boys, ages 1 and 3. One morning we came down to tea to find both of them on their stomachs in front of the screen. A new Blitz couldn't have torn them away. I watched for a minute, and found the show lulling: a simplistic, 15-minute story, sometimes interspersed with live action and told twice in a half-hour.
"They just love the show," the mother told us. Jill vowed no toddler of hers would wind up worshipping TV characters.
 "Jeff, you have to find another Po!" Jill said the other night.
Alex had a pair of Tinky Winkys back in the hospital. We used the smaller one to prop up his IV boards when he went to sleep. The big one we used to stand in the hospital bed and make say, "Eh-ho, Awecks, eh-ho." Alex couldn't sit up by himself then. He couldn't walk, either, but Tinky made him smile. Jill says Alex has always related to the little faces.
I work a block away from a Toys "r" Us, a Kids "r" Us, the world-famous Macys, and a seven-story shopping mall. Last year, you couldn't swing a toddler without knocking over a Teletubbies display. Lamps, mobiles, play sets, toothbrushes, bags. And dolls. Dolls that talked or walked, dolls of plastic firm or soft, plush or hard, from key-chain size to some as big as a family dog.
This year, however, I struck out at Toys "r" Us, Kids "r" Us, the world-famous Macys and the KB toys in the seven-story shopping mall. Two other stores lousy with Tinky Winky last year had closed. Through Hallmark stores and retail video outlets I hunted uselessly. Even the K Mart let me down as the third lunch hour of this mission evaporated amid the stacks of CatDog and Cookie Monster.
Rugrats and Dragon Tales. Pooh and Bull Frog and Rolie Polie Olie. Blue's Clues and Barney. Powerpuff beanbags and tricycles. Pokemon card games, pencil sharpeners, pens, dolls, notebooks and a talking calculator. Even the merchandise of duds like "Rocky and Bullwinkle" and "Toy Story 2" claim more shelf now than yesterday's Teletubbies. Last year is an eon ago in kids' retail, if not in the life of kids Alex's age. I sought a toy store ghost. My boy was in love with a cold fad.
But there they were at last, stacked in a corner ghetto and topped by a six-inch Laa-Laa, in a ripped box, a smudge on his yellow arm and a price on his clearance tag of 90 cents. I found a box of all four Tubbies for $25.99 -- no clearance tag there, boy -- and grabbed it without even checking for smudges on the nose.
On the phone later to Jill I said that I had no luck finding one Teletubbies doll. Jill started to say that was all right when I chopped her off: "I found all four!"
"Are they nice?" she asked. "Do they have the little rubber things on the bottom of the feet? If they aren't nice we're taking them back." When I got them home, Jill called them cheesy.
Alex examined them one at a time as if searching his memory, holding each close to his face before letting it hit the floor with a soft thud and trotting back to the bedroom to play with our surge suppressor.
From over the hill and far away, they are nice. And treasure them, because they won't last forever.
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